


Despair

by SepZet



Category: Original Work
Genre: Black belongs to NuclearGers, Black is not my character, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, F/M, Mental Breakdown, Murder, Necrophilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2019-10-05 01:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17315351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SepZet/pseuds/SepZet
Summary: September Mendax, a fairly popular author works out a book deal with some company somewhere in Louisiana. She doesn't know too many details because she happens to have the shittiest agent in the world. But she goes out to meet with the contract holder, only to end up hopelessly lost. She finds herself somewhere where no one would ever think to look for her, where no one, and I mean no one, could hear her scream.





	1. City Moron

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. So. Writing has been hard for me for a while. I had a Patreon, and that failed. No one wanted to subscribe. No one thought my writing was worth paying for, so I got rid of that and have just been focusing on writing things that made me happy. And for the past few months, writing about this character, this one Black McGrath has made me happy.
> 
> He's not my character. He belongs to a person named NuclearGers who has been very kind to my awkward fan obsession. You can find her on twitter, tumblr and Ao3 under the same username. If you don't mind gore, go check her out. Her art and characters are really cool, and she's a really nice person.
> 
> So I've started writing...uh...seventeen fics featuring Black and her other characters. And I guess this one is the best of them? The most in character? I'm not entirely sure. I've done my best with it. I mean, it's 45 pages long. And to any of my readers of my other works, no, I haven't abandoned those other fics. I work on them as much as I can before I get tired. They'll keep updating. Slowly. I will finish them, I promise. Just right now, I need to write about a scary serial killer man to be happy.
> 
> To Gers: If you read all this and you really do not care for it, please let me know, and I will remove it. I did start writing this before I knew all that much about Black and it's probably...kind of out of character. Lemme know.

Stupid fucking GPS.

Slapping her hand on the side of the console, Sep scowled at the screen as roads appeared and disappeared. No signal. Fuck.

But it would be worth it. Right? It would totally be worth it.

Slumping back in her seat, she stared dismally out the windshield, listening to the click-click-click of her hazard lights. Might as well make a call. Get some kind of information.

Glancing down at her phone, she tapped over to her contacts, then tapped the little icon of her editor. Ugh. Didn’t really want to talk to that skittish motherfucker, but he was the one who knew where the fuck she was going.

Waiting for him to pick up, she dragged over the list of instructions she had been given. Yeah, she had followed them. Geezus.

A click on the other side, and she spurred on to tap on the speaker functionality.

“Ms. Mendax! To what do I-”

“I’m lost as fuck, Stephen. What the fuck kind of directions did you give me?”

“Ah. Right.” He sighed, his jovial tone faltering. “Well, where are you?”

“I don’t even know. It’s some random freeway in the middle of the swamp. I feel like I can see fucking crocodiles.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. Did you take the third exit?”

“Third exit relative to what? What does that even mean, Stephen?” Slapping her hands down on the steering wheel, she glared down at her cellphone. “What third exit? On which freeway? I’ve taken so many freeways, so many exits. Where am I even going?”

“No need to get so angry. All you have to do is backtrack. You can do that, right?”

She could if her fucking GPS wasn’t on the fritz. Something about that area made it go into a frenzy, static and shifting roads that certainly didn’t exist. Asshole piece of shit, fucking garbage.

“No, Stephens. I’m super fucking lost. I’m in a goddamn swamp.”

“Then ask a local. Geezus. You know how to ask for directions, don’t you?”

Sassy piece of shit. She scowled down at her phone, unwilling to admit anything to him. Smug fucker. Said he would come along for that stupid book deal, but no no, last minute, he backed out. She honestly shouldn’t be so surprised. It wasn’t like it was the first time he had been an absolute shit. 

“Fine,” she hissed between gritted teeth. “If I manage to find some locals, I’ll ask them how to get back to you so I can fire your fucking useless ass.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Well, good luck with that.”

Fucker. Thumping her finger on her screen, she hung up the call with that piece of shit. She had to fire him. He was absolutely going to get her murdered in an alleyway in some country for the sake of a book deal. Fuck.

But fine. Yeah. She could find a local. Ask for a way back to whatever little city she came from, then she could go back home and stab that piece of shit editor in the face with that stupid fountain pen he was so goddamn proud of.

Turning off her hazard lights and turning on her turn signal, glancing over her shoulder at the road. Not really necessary, anyways. There wasn’t really anyone on the road.

Her hopes in finding anyone were pretty slim. Why wouldn’t they be? The south, the goddamn bayou was well known for being sparse with human life. She somehow found a way to get to the most empty ass backwater space in all of the south. Fuck.

It had taken way too many years since she had learned that she couldn’t be careful. She couldn’t not take risks, couldn’t play it safe. If she wanted to make a living, wanted to have people read her fucking novel, then she had to get out there. She had to drive into the middle of fucking nowhere to meet with publishing offices to get them to run a book promotion for her.

So she’d been in some sketchy places. It was fine. She would be fine.

Twenty more minutes of driving before she saw it. Yes, she saw the shining beacon she needed.

A mailbox.

She sighed in relief, slowing down in front of a tiny dirt driveway. Thank the gods. A mailbox meant a house, which meant people. And the mailbox didn’t look too beat up or overflowing with mail, so it had to be someplace someone was actively living. It would be okay.

Of course, her car didn’t much like dirt driveways, but goddammit, she was going to make it to the house. It just took a lot of clenched teeth and tight gripping on the steering wheel as she bumped and rattled over every single rock, winding through tall, skinny trees and over weird, rickety bridges until the savior was seen.

The house, the house! It had lights on! She laughed softly, pulling over to the side a bit to give her plenty of room to turn around once she got directions. It would be fine. She would be fine.

Kind of.

She had to spare a scowl for her kitten heels as she stepped out of the car. They really did not do well on dirt and rock, but they would have to do in that moment. As long as she didn’t break an ankle. Small steps.

Straightening her pencil skirt, she hobbled across the dirt driveway up to the porch steps. It really was a nice house, considering it was tucked in the middle of a swamp. Most of it was up on stilts, keeping it out of the water. It was nice. Maybe the people that lived there were nice.

Sep took a deep breath, standing up straighter. Okay. Knock on a stranger’s door for directions. That was fine. Plenty of people did it all the time. She would be fine.

Three sharp knocks, and she stepped back, waiting patiently. Okay. Okay.

It was an age. It felt like an age. But there was a creak from within, the handle rattling, then the door swung inwards.

She honestly didn’t know what she expected. He looked like he belonged in the bayou, with dark hair sticking up in random angles, a greasy looking beard hanging from his jaw. Even his t-shirt and flannel looked sweat stained. He had a bit beer gut and legs that honestly looked way too skinny to be holding his bulk up. But she’d seen worse. So she just smiled, and did her best not to twitch when his eyes raked down her body slowly. Even his house seemed ominous, with just the front entrance and the dark set of stairs leading up behind him.

“Hello,” she squeaked, waving slightly. “I’m a bit lost, and I was hoping if you could give me directions back to town?”

Nice. Cordial.

But not effective, it seemed, as he stood there. And dragged his eyes back up to her face, a grin touching his lips. Uh. Um.

“Sorry to bother you. I can just...” Run. Running was a good idea. His smile was not a good one, was it? No, not really. “I’ll just go, then.”

The moment she took a step back, the moment her heel clicked on the wood, he lurched forward. A scream caught in her throat, unable to rise up further as his hand clamped down around her throat, squeezing way too hard, taking all air, all sound.

“Well,” the man drawled, dragging her with him as he stepped back. How was he so fucking strong? “Pretty little city bird comes up to my front door, hm? How lucky am I?”

Oh come on. Really? Fucking really?

Gagging, she brought her arms up over his arm, slamming her forearms down on his elbow, forcing it to bend. That dragged them closer together, allowing her to slam her foot down on his foot, grinding her pathetic little heel into his toe.

It did the trick, thankfully, making him howl and release her. Just enough time for her to twist and lunge for the door again. If she could get to her car, maybe she would be okay.

Unless, of course, he punched her in the back of the head so hard she stumbled forward and slammed her forehead into the doorframe.

Spots burst across her vision as she slumped down, senseless. Well, she had enough of her senses to hear him laugh, a filthy sound, his grimy hands clamping onto her legs, dragging her back. Once she was close enough, he dragged her around the waist, hauling her up.

“Heavy cunt, ain’t ya?” He cackled, dragging her up a narrow, rickety set of stairs to the rest of the house. “Lots of good meat on you. Get a good price.”

Fuck. Fucking fuck. She groaned, trying to clear the fog in her head. Definite concussion. Fuck. Okay. Do something.

Maybe not.

The world shifted as he slammed her down on a table, knocking the wind out of her. Still, she thrashed, kicking her feet as best as she could to try and get her equilibrium back, only for his fist to crack into her cheek again.

“Quit kicking. You’re going to scratch my mama’s table like that.” His heavy hand thudded down on her collarbone, keeping her pinned as he loomed close. Her eyesight cleared enough to see his tobacco stained teeth, his lips all peeled back in a grin. “You wouldn’t want to upset my mama, would you?”

“Fuck you,” she snarled back, grabbing at his face, trying to shove her thumbs into his eyes. There was no pause on his part, though. Probably used to that, as he hit her again. And again. And again.

Okay. Okay. If she survived all of that, if she got back to her goddamn editor, she was going to shove him feet first into a woodchipper. Then she’d write a novel about it. Yeah. It’d be great.

But no, she was being dragged to the floor by a fistful of her hair, his boot thudding against her gut, her chest. Something definitely cracked. She tried to scream, but another strike had blood splashing across her tongue. She’d never been beaten like that before. She’d never known that kind of brutality. Fuck.

With a mighty heave, he flung her across the floor, letting her thud into kitchen cabinets.

“Lots of energy in you. I like that. Gets my dick har-”

A knock at the front door made his words cut off, his head snapping around. There was a pause as his horrible, sick brain probably worked it over.

“Eh,” he laughed, stepping towards her. “Have any friends with you in that pretty little car?”

No. No she didn’t. She struggled to take a breath, to try and scream, but her lungs were not cooperating. They just jerked and heaved in her chest, trying to remember what it was even like to breathe.

Well, regardless, he seemed to understand it wasn’t anyone she knew, especially when the sound of cracking wood echoed from below, down at the front.

“Who the-” The man snarled, taking a few steps towards the stairs downwards, peering into the shadows with a critical eye. Another crack, and a bang as the door smacked into the opposite wall. And his snarl faded. “Oh. Uh. Hey there-”

“Boone.”

“Hey Blackie! What are you…what are you doing here?” Boone, that fucker, backed up a few steps, apparently backing away from whoever was walking up the steps so slowly. “Can I help you with something?”

“Noticed that car in your driveway, Boone. Doesn’t look like any car of yours.”

“Hey, well, you know, I just-”

“Shut the fuck up, Boone.” Slowly, so slowly, another man mounted the stairs, coming to the landing in the kitchen. He was kind of huge. Tall, taller than Boone, and stronger too. Lean muscle, hunter muscle, all framing a kind of grizzled looking man she’d expect to see wrestling a catfish. His eyes were sunken, tired, dark circles so deep under his eyes looking like the pits of hell. And he just chewed a toothpick, shifting over a shotgun to lean on it like a cane, easy as you please.

Oh god. Help? Maybe? She whined in her throat, trying to either swallow or spit up blood. Either one. Either would work. But she made enough noise to make those dead tired eyes flick her way, dragging over her and the blood smeared around on the wood floor.

Boone glanced back at her, lifting his hands in treaty. “Hey now, she-”

“You been hunting on my territory, Boone. You know I don’t like that.” His voice was a heavy, tired, deep drawl, like he had all the time in the world. “Been generous with you, letting you live here on my land. But this. This is fucking insulting.”

“Hey, she knocked on my door. She came to me. I was just…I was just softening her up for you. Yeah? Nice and tenderized, just how you like. She’s a feisty one. Lots of fun, right?” Boone stepped back towards her, gesturing vaguely. “So how about you and I start skinning her, and we can-”

Nope, not help. Really not help. Fuck. He wasn’t going to help. She dug her nails into the wooden floor, eyes searching wildly for something. Anything. Anything that could help her get out.

All searching was drawn away, however, when Blackie suddenly lurched.

Weight off the shotgun, he kicked the muzzle up off of the floor to bring it to bear. And with a boom, he unloaded both barrels into Boone’s chest.

Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck. Sep fought whatever sound she wanted to make at the sight of it, at the sight of that big fucker stumbling back a step. Okay.

“Disrespected me enough,” Blackie hissed, jerking his wrist to snap the shotgun open, shaking out the spent shells. Replacing them both, he snapped it shut, bringing it back up towards Boone. “Get the fuck off my property.”

Boone hardly had time to wheeze before both barrels took his head clean off. Well, from what she could see. Because the moment he fired, Sep scrambled forward, clawing across wood floor and blood to lunge for the stairs, just past the man with the shotgun.

Her legs didn’t really work all that well. Not well at all. She mostly just fell down the stairs, tumbling and thudding the whole way. It was fine. She was fine. She just had to get to her car. Yeah. She’d be okay if she got to her car.

Instead, she just slammed into the front door, stunning herself again. Ow. Fuck. Okay. That had closed again. Fucking uneven doors closing themselves. She scrambled for the handle, finding it hanging limp from splintered wood. She just had to drag it open. Yeah. Okay.

The creak at the top of the stairs made her blood run cold. So cold.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Oh god.

Sobs choking in her throat, she dragged herself to the side of the door, fighting to open it while crammed into a stupid little coat nook. She pawed, clawed, did everything she could, but all she could focus on was the ominous creak of the man coming down the stairs.

So close. He was so close when she managed to get the door open. It didn’t matter. She threw herself out the tiny gap, her shoulder hitting the frame hard, but that didn’t matter. She just ran on crooked heels, stumbling down the front steps and crawling across the dirt driveway in a frantic attempt to get away.

All for nothing. All of it was for fucking nothing.

Something hit the side of her knee hard, making it pop, sending her weight sideways. She didn’t really have time to scream before she hit the ground, skidding a few feet in the dirt and rocks. Still, she flopped onto her back, trying to kick away with her one good leg.

She was treated to the sight of that Blackie man sauntering over, resting the shotgun on his shoulder like it was a bat, his hand curled loosely around the barrel. So that was what he hit her with. At least he didn’t shoot her, right?

“City girl,” he growled, stepping forward a bit faster to bring his boot down on her gut. Not too hard, but enough to make her cough and stop moving, her hands scrambling at his ankle. “Dumb fuck for knocking on people’s doors out here.”

Don’t beg. Don’t fucking beg. She bared her teeth, probably smeared with blood, digging her nails into the laces of his boot.

That made his brow lift, at least, his jaw shifting to move the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. Something about that made him think. It was something. He lifted his boot off, scuffing it into the dirt. And she stared at him, confused, when he didn’t move.

“Well now,” he growled, jerking his chin forward. “Go on. Get.”

Shit. She flopped over again, throwing herself to her feet to race for her car. Just get in the car, lock the door, and get the fuck out of there. Yeah. Leave. Leave, fucking leave, get out, get out, get-

Weight slammed into her back again, throwing her against the side of her car. She howled out her pain in her ribs, that sound twisting into a snarl when fingers curled in her messy hair, hauling her over to the front of her car. That hand released her hair, clamping on her shoulder. And there was a clatter of his shotgun being dropped, his other hand clamping on her hip.

With a push on her shoulder and a tug on her hip, he bent her over the front of her car. Hard. She barely caught herself, a gasp leaving her lips. But he persisted, pressing harder.

“Down. All the way down,” he snarled, forcing her until her cheek hit metal, and he kept her there. “Don’t move.”

Oh god.

He hesitated, waiting to see if she would test it. When she didn’t, he loosened his grip, stepping back a bit. And with a few taps of his boot to her ankles, he spread her legs a bit more.

Oh fucking god.

He was going to…she was…

Fuck. She was wet.

Eyes clamping shut, she took shaking breaths between her teeth. Now was not a good time. Now was a fucking impossible time. Her ribs ached, her mouth hurt, everything was definitely bruised. But no, no, all it took was being bent over the front of a car in order for her cunt to absolutely throb.

She was going to die. She was absolutely going to die and she was turned on. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

The man behind her hummed, his hands coming down on her back, dragging down slowly, curving down over her ass. Feeling her out. It made her shiver, anticipating more pain. It was too gentle. It was something. But his touch shifted lower, grabbing at the seam of her skirt and yanking, splitting her skirt up the back with absolute ease.

He let out a low whistle, maybe of appreciation. She didn’t know. It just made her whine, forcing her eyes open to peer over her shoulder at him. He was so fucking gross. Kind of. He was kind of her type, maybe. Not necessarily too much, but he was gruff and strong and, judging from all the white lines over his tanned arms, scarred as hell. Probably from attacking other people, the fucker.

His eyes flicked up to hers, his brow lifting. “All that fight gone, hm?” He leaned over her, his hips pressing against her ass, and she could feel it. Feel him. Her breath shifted, choking in her chest when his nose brushed against her ear. Too close, too intimate. “No fight?”

Because she was tired and hurt? Because he would definitely catch her again? Because when his hand swept up between her legs, her back went tense because holy fuck.

That gave him pause. His breath hitched, head turning a bit so he could step back, peering down at her. With a pinch that may have gotten a little skin, he got her panties, dragging them back and letting them slap back against her cunt again. And she twitched. Hard.

He huffed, yanking her panties down to her ankles, only to roughly shove a filthy finger up inside of her without much premise or warning. And she gasped, hips jerking back towards his touch. And he growled, animalistic and deep and she should hate the sound.

Yup. Sure was wet. She was soaking wet, no doubt. She could feel her heartbeat in her cunt, pounding with absolute want. Fuck. She’d never been so turned on in her entire life. She was going to fucking die, and she wanted to get fucked right before it. That was what he wanted too, right? He wanted to fuck her. That was why he was doing that.

He snorted, yanking his hand away from her. There was shifting, and the slow drag of his zipper being drawn down. One hand clamped down on her ass hard, hard enough to bruise, and the other certainly braced his cock, as she could feel the hot head of his cock press up against her cunt.

Oh that was gross. He probably had an absolutely filthy cock. Everything out there seemed dirty. And that was so fucking hot. She choked on a breath, feeling tension sing through her way too strong. Not that she had to wait long, as his other hand clamped down on her hip as he thrust into her hard, filling her roughly.

Sep let out a loud gasp, a horribly thick thrill racing through her and seemingly dragging her right to the edge of orgasm immediately. Fuck. Fuck he felt good. And she seemed to feel good, since he snarled, leaning over her, his hips grinding into her ass as his breath washed over her ear. His hips jerked again, shoving his cock just a bit deeper and she moaned, really moaned, and he laughed.

“Need to be beat before you get fucked? Hm?” His hand slapped suddenly on the side of her head, shoving her cheek down again, keeping her pinned. Keeping her steady so he could really start to fuck her, taking no care with gentility. He wanted to go hard and fast, slamming in as deep as he could, and that was okay. She was really okay with that, as she could only moan and take, take, and take.

Her ribs hurt. Her ribs really hurt, but she couldn’t focus on that. She could only focus on what was happening there. A man just killed another man, she had been beaten twice, and she should technically be getting raped on the hood of her car. But no, no no, not rape. She’d beg for it if she could. If she had to. She didn’t have to.

He cursed about something, his hand hooking around her throat to haul her back, to force her to bend. Once she was bent enough, his teeth clamped down on the side of her neck, biting hard enough to ache too much. His breath huffed around his bite, harsh, needy, matching how hard he continued to thrust into her. He was devouring her. Absolutely consuming her, taking over her senses and body until she could only wail, absolutely wail as her nerves tipped precariously close to orgasm. Fuck. Oh fuck.

It was so sudden when he dragged his dick out of her cunt, but it seemed he did everything quickly. Just barely drawing his teeth out of her flesh, he shoved her back down onto the car, onto her back, shoving her legs wide. But he didn’t immediately get back to fucking her, no no. He just looked at her.

Why’d he stop? She whined, her hands lifted awkwardly at her sides. Did she have to defend herself? Did she have to do something?

But no. He hummed softly, hands slowly curling around her knees, making sure she stayed spread, just looking her over. Assessing her. Like he was trying to figure out how to cook her up and eat her.

“City moron,” he growled suddenly, shifting his hips close as he dragged her closer, rubbing the length of his cock over her cunt. “Fucked up, aren’t you?”

Yes. Yes she was. She definitely was, since she threw her head back and choked on a moan when he filled her again. Fuck.

That was better. Much better. He leaned over her, wrapping an arm around her middle as he resumed taking her, burying his face in her neck. Whatever. It made him grind against her clit and she couldn’t hold it anymore. No, she just jerked hard against him, eyes rolling back in her head. Nope, no pain anymore, just tingling pleasure making her momentarily forget all that had happened. Especially since she could not remember the last time she had come that hard. Ugh. She was fucked up. At least she got a hell of an orgasm before he killed her. Worth it. Maybe.

The man snarled, slamming in hard as he came shortly after her, filling her with his semen and ugh, that was gross. He was so gross, and she had so enthusiastically fucked him. Fuck. Okay. Okay.

Except he didn’t move for a long time. He just shuddered and breathed against her skin, staying inside of her. The tension certainly started to rise again, but what could she do? Did she try and attack him? No. That would be silly. What was even more silly was putting her hands on him, but she did. She absolutely did. She let her awkward hands move even more, letting them rest on his arms. That made him twitch, but he didn’t shove away or anything. No, his breath just jerked again. Something had to happen.

And it did, when he pushed back, standing up straight, stepping back and dragging his cock out of her so deliciously slow that she had to whine. A good sound, maybe, as he snorted, tucking himself away and doing up his pants. But then he dragged is belt out of the loops, leaning forward, over her.

He hooked the belt around her neck and threaded it, drawing it tight until started to press the air out of her. That was enough to wake her up, making her trying to lurch up, off of the car.

“Come on,” he growled, yanking on the belt, dragging her off of the car and onto her knees in the dirt. He tugged again, and again, forcing her to gasp and choke, frantically scrambling over the dirt to keep from losing the ability to breathe completely. Hauling her around the back of her car, his hand searched under the lip until he found the trunk release button. It popped open easily, allowing him to shove it open all the way. And he yanked again on the belt, hauling her up as he leaned down, getting right in her face. “Alright now,” he hissed, shaking her a little. “You’re going in the trunk. Think about touching that trunk release, I’ll show you what it feels like to have that shotgun up your ass. And then I’ll pull the trigger, alright?”

Yup. Perfectly clear. She nodded quickly, squeaking when he tugged again. Nope. She just threw herself into the trunk, tucking her limbs up moments before he slammed the trunk shut. Closing her into darkness. Fuck.

There was silence for a while. It gave her plenty of time to consider going for the trunk release, but that didn’t seem to be a good idea. He could be standing right outside, waiting for her to try and escape. She had no way of knowing. She really didn’t want to know what it was like to have a shotgun up her ass. Maybe she’d have another chance to escape. Who knew? She just had to wait and see. And hope. 

Eventually, she heard one of the car doors open. There was a slide, then a slam. Then silence. Then the other door. And then the car started up.

Okay. They were going somewhere. There wasn’t entirely a point to trying to remember where they went and at what speed. Not like she knew where she had been to begin with. All she could do was brace herself against the trunk, to keep her body from smacking around too much. Whoever that Blackie guy was, he wasn’t exactly the gentlest of drivers. It felt like decades before the car started to slow, and at that point, she had seriously considered going for the trunk release. Throwing herself out of the car to die on the road seemed preferable to the beating she was taking in that trunk. But no, no worries! No worries because the car slowed more and more, finally stopping and parking somewhere.

She expected bright lights or something when the trunk popped open again. It was all dark, though, allowing her to easily see around the moment it was open. A barn, maybe, framed in the car, keeping her car out of sight from anyone who might pass by wherever they were. It seemed important to remember. It felt important to remember, even when the man grabbed at her again, hauling her out of the trunk. It took all her attention to keep up with him, her heels still somehow on her feet, still making it difficult to get proper purchase, even on a concrete floor.

He drew her to a side door, quickly jamming a key into a padlock so he could open it up. But before he went in, he paused, dragging her to her feet so he could look at her. And he stared. His tired eyes drank in every detail, from her swelling eye, her bloody lips, her bruises forming on even inch of exposed skin. He snorted, shoving her ahead of him, letting his belt hang limply around her neck.

“You have a concussion. Don’t sleep.”

And with that, he slammed the door shut, locking her into absolute darkness.

Well.

Fuck.


	2. Sir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The concussion didn't kill her. He hasn't killed her. He has plans for her, and she's in a much worse situation than she thought. It's all she can do to serve dinner, and not be dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Runnin' off of my own headcanons with this guy i have no ideaaaaaa

Holy fuck, she was cold.

Crammed into the corner of that little closet, Sep shivered so hard she felt like her teeth might rattle out of her head. Made sense, she supposed. She was in a closet in a barn. Wasn’t like there was an insulation to keep her from the nighttime chill.

It wasn’t like she could actually sleep. She ached all over. Her bones felt fractured all over, her skin throbbing at every point. Her head ached, pounded with a pulse, so much pain. There was no way she could relax enough to sleep. So. No worries about that.

And on top of all that pain, there was the irritating itch of dried semen tangled in her pubic hair. Because she had sex with a man. A man who killed another man. A man who would probably kill her. And eat her.

Fuck.

She shouldn’t have slept with him. She should have continued to fight. Should have…done something. She certainly should have… Oh please. What could she have done? He was stronger than her by miles. He could have done whatever he wanted to her. She was lucky she had managed to fight off the first guy, Boone.

She was lucky she was still alive, in that closet. Not that it could go any better. He could change his mind. He could decide to cut her up and eat her. He ate people, didn’t he? That was what Boone said. Skinned them, tenderized them. Fuck. 

If she wasn’t so fucking cold and in so much pain, she’d laugh. Not like she had much clothes to cover her, what with her torn skirt, her shredded stockings, her silky blouse. Gods. She was going to die there, and when they found her body, if they found her body, they’d see that she had fought but she hadn’t been raped. Fuck.

Maybe she dozed. She didn’t know. But when the door rattled suddenly, she yipped in fear, body drawing up tight.

“Hey,” that gruff voice called, “dead yet?”

“No,” she snapped back, rubbing her arms. “I’m fucking freezing!”

“Mm.” Another rattle, a click of a lock, and the door swung open. Light, precious light washed over her, making her shudder. “Sleep at all?”

“No.” She tried to glare, but it was probably just her eyes swollen mostly shut. She didn’t move when he stomped his way in. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Dunno.” He came over, dropping into an easy crouch in front of her. “Look like shit.”

“No kidding.” All her teeth felt loose in her mouth. If he was just going to mock her, then she had absolutely no interest in participating in the conversation. She just scowled down at his boots, still shivering.

“Hey.” When she didn’t respond, he swatted her cheek, sending a jolt of pain through her again. “Look at me when I talk to you.”

“What? What do you want? What do you fucking want?” There was that anger again. It rose up like bile in the back of her throat, giving her the strength to unfurl her cramped legs, allowing her to rise up a bit more. “You hit me, you fuck me, then you shove me in this damn closet overnight? What? What is your game, what could you-”

Another slap. Harder.

“Could decide to gut you. Like Boone. That what you want?”

Ow. “No.”

“Don’t scream at me. Dumb cunt.” He rose to his feet again, looming over her. “Bleeding anywhere?”

“No.” God, her face hurt. “Just bruising. I still taste blood.”

“Probably loosened a few teeth. You want pain pills?”

“Yes!” Oh that would be lovely. “Do you have any?”

“Course I do. Want any, you stop fucking shouting.”

Right. She was his prisoner, wasn’t she? She nodded quickly, trying to wriggle her toes just a bit. Still had feeling in them.

But he just stared. Reached up, adjusted his stupid trucker cap, regarding her like she was a fresh cut of meat. Maybe she was to him. But no, he stared, then sighed, shaking his head.

“Fuckin’-” he growled, grabbing at her wrist. He gripped too hard, yanked even harder, hauling her to her feet. He didn’t seem to care when she yelped in pain, and he certainly didn’t care when she hobbled along behind him on only one good leg. When they made it out the door, into the light, she could see her injured knee was swollen and purple, kind of beyond recognition. Geezus.

At least she could finally see where she was. Once they were out of the closet, she could see the rest of the barn. She could see her car, still somewhat clean, and beyond that, there were several other cars of different makes and models, all with varying levels of dirt on them. Other victims, probably. And then they were out of the barn, into the swamp.

She had been kept in one of many barns, it seemed, judging from the buildings she could see through the trees. There were thin trails through tall grasses, little wooden bridges over sunken mud, all of it very rural and abandoned looking. He walked through it without pause, without a care, hauling her limping, tired ass up a trail towards a house. His house.

On stilts too, the house looked a bit smaller than Boone’s. Up the front steps, there was a porch with a rocking chair, a typical set up for the south, she assumed. But he did drag her into the house, and that was definitely better than a barn, right?

Maybe. She could hope.

Except he took her through the house to the back porch, where a big metal tub sat. And with a heave, he fairly lifted her and slammed her down into it, taking all her breath and adding a fair amount of pain.

“Clothes. Off.”

Geezus fuck. Did he have to be so rough? Not that she would complain, or could complain. She just choked back her huffs of agony, tugging at her torn clothes as best she could with aching limbs. Getting her skirt and stockings off added new waves of agony to her aching knee, so when she did succeed, she could only flop back with a few exhausted gasps.

He grunted, unamused as he turned away. Some rummaging, and he returned with a garden hose.

Oh for the love of-

The water wasn’t ice cold, but it sure felt like it. She yelped when it splashed onto her, making her twitch away, but he did not relent. He just continued to spray her down like she was an old car, completely impassive. Even when he paused and dumped a block of soap on her, his tired expression didn’t change.

Okay, fine. She fumbled with the soap, barely able to get a good grip on it so she could scrub down every inch. The soap felt weird. Slippery in ways most other soaps weren’t. Rather than let her thoughts focus on that for too long, she just made sure to get every inch, watching the tub fill up with murky, bloody water.

Only when she scrubbed in between her legs did his brow twitch. Yeah. He could respond all he wanted like that. He was the one that fucking jizzed in her. Fucker. Not like it hadn’t been the hardest orgasm of her life, but whatever. He was to blame, not her.

There was no warning when he tossed the hose to the side, letting it run over the porch to drip down into the swamp. And there was definitely no warning when he gripped the side of the tub and tipped it, dumping both her and filthy water onto the wood.

Goddammit. She laid there on the boards, gasping ineffectually, when he rinsed her off again with the hose. No point in moving. He’d just put her where he wanted her, wouldn’t he? Just lay very still. Maybe he’d forget about her if she didn’t move.

But no, of course not. He turned off the hose and grabbed her again, dragging her wet body across the porch, back into the house. He threw her in a random room, and left her there, going to do something.

She just wanted a book deal. She just wanted a fucking book deal. Fuck. Don’t cry. She really wanted to cry because fuck, she was frustrated, but no, she wouldn’t cry. Not yet. She just lifted her head, blinking her swollen, aching eyes, to stare at the back of the man who was probably going to kill her.

He rummaged through a cabinet, grumbling about something. Whatever it was, he turned back, tossing a bundle of cloth at her.

“Put that on,” he growled when she didn’t move, his step coming closer to her. “Then come meet me in the kitchen. You have a minute before I find you again, decide that you’re better off as food.”

Yup. Good plan.

“Hear me?”

“Yes sir,” she gasped out, nodding quickly, peeking out from her fetal position. Wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the look focused her way by that horrible, horrible man. Didn’t matter as he stepped over her and left the room fairly quickly.

No time to waste. He would make good on his threats, wouldn’t he? A man who didn’t hesitate to shoot another, to slam a woman over the hood of her car, certainly wouldn’t pause when it came to gutting her and frying her up for Sunday brunch.

So she grit her teeth against the pain, forcing herself to sit up and unwrap the bundle of cloth. A hoodie, it seemed, much too large for her. Shaking it open, she had to pause and look at the image on front.

A shrimp, framed by the words ‘Papa Gill’s Shrimp & Crawfish’. That was what his hat said too, right? Did he work there?

If she got out, she’d have to remember that. Report him. Something. Make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else. Still, she dragged it over her head, settling it into place on her body.

Using the wall to brace herself, she forced herself to her feet, casting a backwards glance at the room he had left her in. Bedroom, it seemed, with a mussed up bed in the corner. He lived alone, then, if that was his room. Probably was. A murderer probably wouldn’t have anyone around to witness it.

Limping her way out, she felt her way along the walls, listening for sounds. Any sounds. And there it was, the thud-thud-thud that probably meant him. She had to go to him. She had to figure out what he was going to do to her, because with her knee the way that it was, there was no way she could run anytime soon. She just had to wait and heal, and maybe, just maybe, she would live long enough to get away.

Patience. And a strong stomach. That would get her through.

She slumped into the kitchen, breathing hard when her eyes landed on his back. Blackie’s back. Whatever.

He lifted a butcher knife and brought it down hard.

Thud.

That was where the sound came from. She’d wondered.

Thud.

Her eyes traced down his back, at the muscle shifting there. He was strong, that was for sure.

Thud.

Her eyes landed on the cutting board. At the red meat there. They followed more of the path, down to the stack of meat ready to be cut down.

Thud.

At the human leg, the human arm flopped there.

Thud.

Clamping her hand over her mouth, she exhaled hard through her nose. Oh god. Oh god oh god, that was a person. He actually ate people, didn’t he? They weren’t kidding. Fucking hell, part of her had hoped they had been over exaggerating. But there he was, hacking up a body. Maybe Boone. It was fresh enough.

His head turned slightly, but he didn’t pause with his butchering. “Get in the fridge and make yourself something to eat.”

Oh god. “I’m not going to-”

“I have other food. Cook. Now.”

Yup. Sure. Absolutely. She limped forward, casting sideways glances at the pile of meat he worked on. Fucking hell. He really ate people. Fuck. No, focus. Ignore the meat.

Swallowing down the puke that pulsed in her throat, she slumped against the fridge, hauling open the old, tired thing. It rattled strangely when she opened it, a bulb flickering valiantly against its age.

At least he was right. There were normal things in there, like milk, cheese, and a package of bacon. Hm. She cast her eyes over everything there, throat closing up again when she dared to peer over the door at him.

“Um.”

He didn’t pause, lips pressed in a grim line. Still slicing.

“Do…do you have any potatoes?”

Only then did he pause, his tired eyes flicking over. Setting down his knife, he turned away from the counter, stepping past her. She couldn’t help the whole body flinch when she saw how bloody his hands were.

Flicking open a cabinet, he gestured roughly inside. Potatoes. Right. And onions.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, eyeing him warily when he brushed past yet again, getting back to work. Okay. She could cook.

Make some kind of hash, maybe. That sounded…acceptable. And she was starving. And she could focus on it, and ignore him doing whatever he was doing. Yeah. Good plan.

Chop the potatoes, slice up the bacon. Find some eggs, mix it up. Make it good. Yeah. Just work on cooking. She even found a big cast iron pan hanging on the wall, rubbing it down with butter. She just had to fry it all up on the tiny, weird stove he had. That was fine.

So long as she could figure it out.

Fuck. She fiddled with the knobs, mentally cursing at the complicated old thing. She could ask for help, but that would require talking to him.

Why was she even still alive? What was he planning? Why was he letting her cook? Tears burned at her eyes as she stared at the old metal thing, trying to think of some way to get it to work. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

“It’s a gas stove,” he grumbled, too close. It made her flinch away, but it didn’t stop him. He just adjusted a knob, reaching past her to a box of matches that sat on the back of the stove. Striking one, he brought it close to the burner, lighting it up for her. A blue flame flared to life, and he adjusted it again. Shaking the match out, he turned, his chest brushing against her shoulder. “Make extra.”

“Yes sir,” she whispered, throat too tight. Okay. Make him food too. Okay.

It was actually a strange comfort to cook again. Something to focus on. She knew how to cook. It gave her focus, gave her purpose as she added each item, digging through his cabinets until she found spices to add. But then it all finished way too quick, and she noted that the thudding had stopped.

Clicking off the stove, she exhaled slowly, daring to glance over her shoulder.

His knife stabbed into the cutting board, he slowly and methodically wrapped each cut of meat in saran wrap, a stack of bloody bones the only blatant evidence of what it was that he was dealing with. Neat. Tidy. Practiced.

“It’s ready,” she forced out, her voice too soft. Too quiet. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “It’s ready.”

He hummed, jerking his thumb towards another cabinet. “Plates in there.”

Um. “Want me…to dish one up for you?”

“Yeah.”

Okay. Cool. She could do that. And she did do that, heaping a plate high for him, taking a smaller portion for herself. And before she could ask, he waved vaguely into the other room.

“Kitchen table. Be there in a minute.”

Grabbing up some forks, she carried both plates to the table. Breakfast. Normal.

Just as she settled in a chair, he came clomping in, wiping his hands clean on a rag. He didn’t comment about anything, just toeing a chair out for himself so he could settle down as well. He wasted no time picking up his fork and digging in, shoveling a big mouthful in.

She stared for a moment. Hard not to. Was it okay? Did she cook it alright? Her stomach twisted up in knots, nervousness taking her and making everything seem fuzzy and static-y until-

His eyes flicked up to hers again, brow lifted.

Shit. Her hand slapped onto the table over the fork, rattling it a bit as she snatched it up so she could take a bite. And really, it tasted fucking amazing, even with the sour taste of choked back vomit on her tongue. Helped her focus on that, rather than the murderer at the table with her.

They ate in silence for a bit. Or it felt like silence, until she tracked a faint hum in the air.

He was humming.

Maybe some kind of song, she had no idea. But it was weird.

With a huff through his nose, he stood suddenly. He was really good at ignoring her flinches, just heading into the kitchen once more. It gave her a chance to look at his plate, feeling just a small thread of comfort at how much he had eaten. He must like it. What kind of taste did a man have if he ate people frequently? She had no idea.

But she could hear another cabinet, and then the tap.

Gods, she was exhausted. Her heart just kept up pounding, but the adrenaline was all gone. She was wrung out, wrung dry. There was no going anywhere. He could change his mind, and he could kill her in a moment. Fuck. And she made breakfast.

Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry, not yet.

The click of a glass being set down made her eyes snap open. When had they closed? But the glass of water was in front of her, and then he set down a little bottle of advil in front of her.

Pain pills.

As much as she wanted to lunge for them, she just sat and waited, even when he sat back down and kept eating. Could she… Maybe she should…

“May I take them, sir?” There we go. Good. Asking permission was good.

He grunted, nodding faintly as he shoveled in another heaping forkful.

“Thank you, sir.” Move calmly. Reach out slowly, open the bottle. Shake out two pills, put the lid back on. Pop the pills in her mouth, take a few sips of water.

Gods that water tasted good. She slumped down a bit, continuing to sip at it, over and over. She was so thirsty.

“Good,” he grunted again, taking her attention. What was good? He dropped the fork on his clean plate, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “You know how to cook a lot?”

Oh! “Thank you, sir. I…yeah. I like to cook. Lots of things. I…I like to make casseroles.” Was that good?

Brushing his plate aside, he folded his arms on the table, fixing her in his tired stare. “You clean?”

“Yes.”

“Know how to take care of animals?”

“I love animals, sir. Yes.”

He blinked slowly, rubbing his hand over his jaw. It was so scarred. He was missing half of his middle finger. “You know you’re never leaving here.”

Ah. “Yes sir.” Of course he wouldn’t let her go. Not alive.

“You want to live?”

“Yes sir.” Don’t cry.

“Then stay useful. And don’t.” His eyes narrowed, lips pressing into that grim line yet again. Gods, he looked a million years old. “Don’t run. Don’t you dare run. Because I like a good hunt, and nothing gets me in a hunting mood like a runner. You hear me?”

“Yes sir.” Because she couldn’t go very fast on that leg. If it didn’t heal right, she never would. “Of course, sir. I can…I can cook, and clean for you. I won’t be any trouble.”

She was kind of proud of herself that she didn’t flinch when he stood up again. No, she remained perfectly still, even as he came over to her, reached for her. Okay, maybe she flinched a little when his fingers carded through her mostly dry hair, rubbing the strands together.

But he didn’t say anything. Just loomed, just felt her hair. And just stared. Speak. Do something. Anything.

Tears closing her throat up tight, she forced herself to look up at him. Just look. Say something. Force sounds out. Please.

“I…” Breathe. “I’ll do whatever you need me to, sir.”

“Black,” he growled, hand tensing in her hair, threatening to pull. “I’m no sir to no one.”

Blackie. Black. Yeah. Okay. She forced a shaky little smile.

“Okay, Black.” That made his grip loosen just a bit. Maybe she could press her luck a bit. “Will…will you ever…will you force me to eat…”

“Dunno. Don’t need you puking up perfectly good meat.” He let go of her, continuing on to the kitchen. “You know what to do. Get to work.”

Cleaning. Yup. Good. She could do that.

And it felt good to let a few fat tears squeeze out when she collected up the dishes to be cleaned. Just a little bit of crying, but she didn’t dare make a sound.

One wrong step, and she would die there. And no one, no one would know she was gone.


	3. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maid, cook, and fucktoy. Worst things could have happened. He could have started dicing her up for food. September still remains stuck in the house, given a purpose, all while she waits for her knee to heal enough so that she might escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh I went to look at all the art of Black because I wanted to see if he wore a belt but uh...he's not usually wearing pants in all the art he's in. Lol. I think there are like 4 pics where he has pants and he doesn't have a belt. Oh well, I'm giving him one. Even tho that ass thicc enough his pants probably aren't going anywhere.

Even if her knee healed, she definitely wasn’t going to get away any time soon. Nope.

The chain rattled softly behind her as she swept up the porch, chasing away an errant beetle off of the wood. There were so many fucking bugs. It would help if there weren’t so many gaps between the boards.

Plenty to do each and every day. And because he was gone most of the day, he found a way to keep her from leaving the house.

By chaining her to it.

Why he even had a collar that fit her, she didn’t want to know. Why he had a ring sunk into the floor in the center of the house, she was terrified of the answer. But before he left in the mornings, early mornings, he’d padlock the chain to that shitty collar, tugging it a few times to wake her. Well, tugging was a gentle word. More like yank until she gagged and slid out of her closet that he locked her in.

And he’d look her in the eye, like he was daring her. The message was enough.

Then he left. And that was that. For hours.

It gave her time. She’d make a small breakfast for herself, usually eggs that were of oddly varying sizes and colors, then quickly clean herself on the back porch with the hose and that weird soap he let her use. The smell of that damn soap made her gag most mornings. Then it was to cleaning the house, and it felt like it never ended. Every time she turned her back, the floor needed to be scrubbed, the windows wiped down.

Because that man, that Black gave no shits to how clean it was. Made her really wonder why he wanted her to clean the fucking house. He came in smelling of rot and smearing mud everywhere, but heaven forbid if she didn’t clean. The last time she didn’t clean something to his satisfaction, she got a lovely bit of familiarity with his boot. In her gut. So she cleaned like her life depended on it.

It helped her pass the time. Often, she didn’t have lunch unless she heard the rattle of his truck coming up the driveway, but that was rare. He only rarely came home for what he called lunch, and it was usually to shove her over whatever she was trying to clean and work out a quick orgasm on her. It didn’t ever really finish for her, but he seemed pleased enough to crack a broken hand on her ass in praise, and off he went again. She had a permanent bruise on her ass because of that brutal goddamn hand. Being riled up like that, her cunt slick and wet from his eager need, that was just enough push to make her feel like she deserved lunch.

But she always made sure to have dinner ready. It was easier once she found the old cookbook in one of the cabinets. It gave her more ideas, anyways. And he hadn’t complained.

He’d come home, stomping his boots somewhat clean just before the porch steps. Then he’d wander up, and he’d sniff the air like he was trying to figure if he could smell her. Satisfied with whatever he could smell, he’d go to the center of the house and find her chain. And he’d reel her in like a fish, no matter what she was doing, like he was making sure she was still there.

She always was. And she always had to submit to his stare, his judging. Then he’d go off to shower or whatever, which wasn’t as often as she would like because he fucking stunk, and she had to be sure to have his dinner dished up before he emerged from whatever nonsense he got up to. It was fine. She was even allowed to eat with him.

Then he’d go out to the porch, light his excessive amount of citronella candles, and listen to the radio as he watched the fireflies, whittling away. She would clean the kitchen, lingering by the windows, listening to the music too.

He liked music. A whole awful lot. Didn’t matter what the channel was. He’d just sit out there, his eyes closed as he hummed faintly along with the music. There were the rare times that he would sing, and it was then that she’d have to come to terms with the fact that he had some talent. It was a bit haunting, but that was probably just because she knew he was a horrible creature.

Letting the broom bristles rest on the porch, her eyes fell on the radio. Everything was mostly clean. Dinner was in the oven, staying warm. She didn’t…she didn’t really have anything else to do with her time. And she liked music too.

Maybe she could…she hadn’t pissed him off in a while. There had been that one time she had been startled by his sudden, silent appearance. And she’d screamed. He hated screaming. That had warranted him stomping on the chain, choking her back and forcing her to fall to the floor. That’d hurt. She’d learned to be quiet. Be so quiet.

Hopefully that wouldn’t anger him. She had to hope, because she leaned the broom against the wall, coming over to the radio. Just…don’t break it.

Kneeling down, she pressed the power button delicately, listening to the soft music that filtered through. Okay, so the radio had some preset buttons she could go back to. That was good. So she settled her hand on the dial, turning it slowly, running through the different channels. There really was a shocking variety. It was kind of nice, giving her plenty to choose from. She had to find something to give her some kind of reason to smile.

It’d been ages since he’d brought her there. So many days. He hadn’t hurt her again, not like before. There were the errant swats and kicks, but not like that first beating that he had only a passing participation in. Her bones still ached a bit. Her knee pulsed with pain if she put too much weight on it. Her swelling had gone down, though. She could actually feel around her eye without hurting too much. She was healing, at least.

Her hand lifted from the dial when the soft plucking of an electric guitar came through, paired with a rhythmic drum and a free form piano. That was nice. Her eyes fluttered shut, her hand hovering in the air. Maybe a little jazzy, something to take her mind off of everything.

Lowering herself all the way, she hugged her knees to her chest, resting her forehead on them. Just listening. Music really was great. She could pretend she was somewhere else. Pretend the croaking of frogs came from a TV, not from real life. Pretend she was back in her apartment, working on her next novel, ignoring all the annoying text messages from her editor. Pretend that she had a date later in the week with a fairly nice guy she had met at her last book signing. Yeah.

Pretend she wasn’t chained in some psycho’s house, forced to cook and clean so that he didn’t snap and butcher her for Sunday brunch.

She’d found the freezer. Back of the house, locked with several padlocks. That was where he kept the meat. She just knew it. She never wanted to see the inside of it. Not ever.

He liked marrow. She knew that. Sometimes, he’d put some split bones in the oven and roast them. That was his favorite, she knew, because he’d completely ignore her food and spread the thick, gelatinous paste on toast and he’d just eat it up. Sometimes, he didn’t even cook it. Sometimes, he’d just sit and chew on the bones until they cracked and he gobbled up the fat inside. Human marrow. Human meat. Fuck.

How did anyone discover they liked human meat? How did he even try it at first? Did she even want to know?

No. She didn’t. It already killed her to see him eat it. She didn’t want to know about his killing. His hunting. His past.

The back of her neck tingled. More than a tingle. And she had enough sense to snap her head up, eyes landing on the pair of legs before her. Shit. Fuck. Why hadn’t she heard him come home? Why was he so fucking quiet?

“Black!” She gasped, digging her nails into her knees. Don’t yell. “I didn’t-! I-! Dinner’s ready!”

When she tried to stand, his boot came down hard on the chain, keeping her down, keeping her from getting up. Shit. Oh gods. She’d fucked up. She’d totally fucked up. She shouldn’t have touched his radio.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t…everything’s clean. Dinner’s in the oven. I made catfish casserole. I put some bacon in it.” Please don’t kill her. Please don’t hit her. Please.

Please.

He reached down towards her, her eyes clamping shut on reflex. His fingers brushed her cheek, reaching past. A fumble, and a click. And the chain clattered away, dropping over her legs.

Okay. He unhooked her. Okay. He normally waited until bedtime for that. When she was locked in the closet.

Dragging her eyes up, she peered up at him. His attention wasn’t on her, though. It was on the radio.

It was a different song than before. More piano, but that time, it was paired with a violin and steady drum. Good swaying music. Something different. He didn’t listen to too much like that.

“Would…” Please, for the love of god, please let her not press too much. “Do you like it, Black? This music?”

He didn’t answer. At least, not that question.

“Dish up. Bring it out here.”

“Oh. Yes! Right away!” She could do that. A little uncommon, but fine. Bracing herself on the porch railing, she got up from the floor, collecting the broom on her way in. Her knee gave out a few times in her stumble, but that was okay. She did as she was told, dishing up plates for the both of them, giving him a truly massive portion, collecting up a bottled beer for him on the way out. He liked a beer sometimes, and he really liked it with her casseroles. She knew this from the soft hums he’d let out, like happy sounds that gave her some reason to relax.

He was so quiet. That first time she’d met him, he’d said so much more. Now that he was home, now that she had her place, he was so quiet. So, so quiet. Like words were a waste of time, like she wasn’t worth his breath.

When she returned to the porch, he was back in his rocking chair, his candles lit. He hated mosquitos, she had learned, judging from his grumbles and how many candles he’d burn to keep them away.

He took his plate of dinner without much question, but he did grumble his thanks when she handed him his beer. And as always, he popped the cap off with his bare hands, even though it wasn’t a twist top.

Settling on the porch, she folded her legs as best as she could, her knee bent strangely. It still wasn’t healing right. She’d never run from there, would she?

She did her best not the think about it. Just eat, just eat and look at the fireflies and listen to the soft droning music that she had chosen.

A different song came on, familiar. She’d heard it ages ago. And she knew the words. A faint smile touched her lips, settling her plate on her lap. And maybe, just maybe, she hummed a few notes.

His eyes were like fire on her skin, choking all sound from her throat. Uh. Shit. Was that bad? She never knew with him.

“You know the words?”

“Um. Yes.”

“You like to sing?” Keeping her fixed in his gaze, he lifted his beer, taking a swig from it. 

“Sometimes.” She made herself keep eating, looking out over the porch. “When I know the words.”

He grunted, apparently satisfied with whatever he’d wanted to know. And they ate quietly, scraping their plates clean to be set aside in a stack. Whatever had bothered him, he had moved on.

When she moved to take their plates to be washed though, he hissed softly, a warning for something she’d trespassed upon. She had no idea what. She just sank back down in her seat, looking at him uncertainly. He had no attention for her, though. He just stared into his swamp, cradling his beer bottle loosely in his hand, letting the base of it rest against his knee as he rocked slowly, back and forth, back and forth.

He was a horrible man. So horrible. It was like he never took that hat off, his hair beneath tangled and faintly curled, pale blond. He was too tan, too scarred, his face aged and tired from whatever it was he did. His arms were always exposed, he always bore some white tank top, his skin crossed with countless white scars. His hands were pretty well mangled, missing pieces of fingers, scarred nubs that brought to mind all the sinister acts he had no doubt inflicted on others. Around a wrist, he wore a cord tied with many sharp teeth. Gator teeth, probably. He was horrible. Just horrible.

He was the only thing deciding that she lived. Boone would have beaten her, raped her, eaten her up. Black could do the same thing. He didn’t…do some of that. He let her live because she was useful. The worst he did was stomp her chain, fuck her roughly some days, and swat her from time to time, like she were an errant cub, and he a bear.

She was there for too long. She had to leave. She had to get out, but her knee. Her damn knee, and that chain. He’d get bored of her, and he’d decide she was better as a meal than as a maid.

She dreamt sometimes. Mostly of home, of a warm bed, of safety and comfort. Sometimes, though, she dreamt of being bent over that car, of being filled and forced to stay still. With that deep voice growling for her to get down. Of course she did. She had many, many problems.

“I…” she started to speak, faltering. What did she want to say? Who knew? “Do…do you know my name?”

He’d never asked. Why did he need to? She was cattle, being fatted for Christmas dinner. Why did she bother? Why did she care? Why-

“September.” He drank from his beer again, a low hum echoing from his chest. “Muggy month. Still warm.”

Oh. “How…”

“ID. Took it from your wallet.” He made like he was done, but he still continued. “You had another ID, though.”

“Oh. My real name. I’m…not from here.” Curling her fingers in the hem of her hoodie, she stared down at her hands, at the yellowish bruises that still healed on her thighs. She didn’t like talking. It felt like a trap, like she would say the wrong thing.

“English not your first language?”

Was he racist? They were in the south. “No. It’s not.”

“Still good though.”

“I’ve had some practice.” 

He hummed, setting his empty beer bottle aside. “Write pretty well too.”

Write? That made her pause, glancing over. “You’ve…seen my books?”

He didn’t answer. He just rocked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Had he read them too? How long ago? Had he known about her before? What was happening? Her thoughts were a jumbled twist, tossing over and over. How much did he know about her? How much did he care? How long would he allow her to live there before he tired and…and slaughtered her?

She could go mad from the wondering. Maybe she would, in time. Maybe she already had. She didn’t know. Hell, if she wasn’t careful, everything would break apart and she wouldn’t even want to leave.

It was quiet when he spoke again. A lull in between songs. Just a quiet moment, and then his voice, gruff, deep, drawling.

“Come here.”

A simple command. One that she would not, could not ignore. She scoot forward on her butt until she was at his knee, waiting for whatever he wanted. And while she hadn’t really experienced it before, she could figure what he meant when his legs spread slightly at her closeness.

He hadn’t ever wanted a blowjob before. The thought of it made her crotch throb, but she ignored it. He had made a clear sign, and she was nothing if not obedient, wasn’t she? She was a good girl.

Okay. Okay. She could do that. She could serve him. Shifting up onto her knees, she ignored the ache, glancing uncertainly up at his face. And he watched her, like he always did, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. Waiting. For her.

How did he like it? Were there any tricks to what he wanted? She couldn’t ask. She had to guess, feel it out. Feel him out. Hell, she wasn’t any good at blowjobs. Dicks tasted nasty, even the clean ones. His was no doubt filthy. What had she done to make him want that? Didn’t matter. It was happening.

Resting her hands lightly on his knees, she pressed her fingertips in, rubbing up his jean clad thighs. Up the top, down in between, she stroked his inner thighs with slow deliberateness, hoping it was something good. He made no comment, made no sound, not even when she leaned in, pressing her face against his belly, nuzzling slightly.

He smelled of sweat, mud, rot, and maybe faintly of fish. She didn’t know. Mostly sweat. She focused on that, easing her hands up higher, letting her thumbs stroke slowly, pressing where thigh met pelvis.

His breath hitched. Huh. That was something. A good sign.

Still, she tugged at his jeans, undoing the button, tugging them down a bit. The cloth stuck to his skin with old sweat, making it a bit more difficult. But with some work, and a dip of her hand, she felt wiry hair, and his cock.

Oh god. She throbbed at the touch of it, her body’s response making her eyes clamp shut with self-revulsion. Just focus. Please him. It was what he wanted.

Fishing his cock free, she felt him with her fingertips, not trusting herself to open her eyes yet. He felt good, thick, hot. Uncut, it seemed, the extra skin folded halfway over the head. When her thumb pressed against that bit of exposed tip, he sighed, a breathy little sound. Something good.

That made her eyes open. He did have a nice cock, not that it mattered. It was attached to him, and he was horrible. He was a horrible, horrible man. So horrible that she gripped him tightly, stroking him steadily as she pressed kisses down the length of him, nuzzling past the opening of his jeans to kiss at the base. Kisses were good. Because she couldn’t taste his dick yet.

His hips jerked at that. Very good? It seemed? It coaxed her into keeping it up, nuzzling and kissing at skin until she found herself back where thigh met pelvis, brushing her nose over there, over the soft, thin skin.

He moaned. Loudly.

Oh. That was good? He liked that there? Drawing back, she peeked up at him, continuing to stroke his dick, but reached up with her other hand, rubbing her thumb at that same spot. And he moaned again, his head tipping back.

Favorite spot, then. She could work with that.

Keeping a few fingers there to press and stroke, she brought her lips to the head of his cock, kissing softly. The clear fluid that wept there tasted horrible, almost enough to make her gag. The protein. The meat he ate. That had to flavor it.

Her stomach twisted in disgust, but she ignored it. She made herself first lick, then latch on him, suckling at the head of him as she tickled over his favorite spot, earning her more breathy sounds, and eventually, a hand in her hair.

That wasn’t bad. She was doing okay. The taste was awful, but she hadn’t puked yet. She could handle that.

If only she had a hand free to touch herself, though.

Drawing off of his cock with a pop, she pressed in, licking at that part of his thigh as she continued to stroke him. She had a hunch that he would like that, judging from his sounds and-

His hand in her hair tightened too hard, a shout lifting from his throat as semen spilled over her fingers, trailing down her skin to her wrist.

Uh. Bit of a hair trigger, hm?

She drew back a bit, peering uncertainly up at him. His eyes were mere slits, a faint smile on his lips, attention unfocused and distant on the fireflies. He was out of it. She’d done well. Very well, she guessed. She’d done well.

There was a strange bit of pride to be able to make him look so taken out of it. He hadn’t even moaned like that when he had fucked her. That was good, right? She’d made a difference. She was good.

It was an age before he blinked quickly, lifting his head. She hadn’t moved, remaining knelt between his legs, her messy hands half lifted from her lap. He hadn’t told her where to go, what to do. No need to anger him unnecessarily, right? Just wait for an order.

“Come on then,” he grumbled, rising to his feet. “Grab the dishes.”

She could do that. She scrambled for them, nearly faltering when her bad knee twinged. Still, she managed to get to her feet pretty quickly, waiting for him patiently.

Tucking his flagging cock away, he didn’t bother to do them up, instead just turning off the radio and pinching the candle flames until they were all out.

She’d done well. She’d made him come really hard. That was good. He wouldn’t be mad at her, right? He wouldn’t…

Closing her eyes, she carefully put the dishes in the sink. She’d done fine, right? It was okay. She didn’t have to panic. She just stood at the sink, listening to him kick her chain back into the house so he could close the front door.

His grunt by the kitchen door made her turn and look, following his jerked chin down the hall to the bathroom.

Which was strange. It was really strange. But she stood there in the bathroom doorway when he went in, dragging the curtain back, away from the tub. Turning the taps, water came gushing out, to be tested by his touch and eventually caught when he shoved the stopper in to the drain.

A bath? He didn’t normally take baths. He-

“Come to my room when you’re done.” And with that, he brushed past her, leaving the bathroom.

It was for her? She could take a bath? With warm water?

She gasped at it for a moment, not quite believing the implications. She’d had nothing but cold water for so long. Warm bath? As long as she wanted? She…

Oh geez, it was going to overflow.

She lurched forward, frantically turning the taps until the water stopped. The tap dripped a few times, but otherwise, it was quiet. And she could take a bath. A bit of giddiness touched her heart then, coaxing her into dragging off her hoodie, stepping into the deliciously warm water.

He rewarded her with a bath. For doing so well. That was what it was.

A reward she happily took. She soaked in the warmth, scrubbed herself more gently. A bit of pampering, but not one she would take too long. He was waiting for her, wasn’t he? Maybe if she was good enough, he’d let her have another bath? Wouldn’t that be nice?

There were no towels to be had in that bathroom, so she just held her hoodie to her chest, padding out of the room and down the hall to his bedroom. The door sat open a crack, letting a soft light filter out.

She’d done well. She had nothing to worry about as she pushed open the door, limping into his bedroom.

His back was to her, muscle rolling under his skin when he drew back the blankets on his bed. He didn’t turn. He didn’t have to. It was like he always knew where she was, all the time.

“You sleep by the wall,” he grumbled, stepping back. “You’d better not snore.”

“I don’t.” Don’t sound too eager. It’d been too long since she’d been in a bed. Even if she was going to sleep with a monster, she wanted something besides the fucking closet. “My hair’s wet, though. There were no towels.”

“‘S fine.”

“Okay. Thank you.” She moved forward, going to put on the hoodie when she felt his hand clamp on her wrist. Or not. Why did he always grip so hard? “It’s all you’ve given me to wear.”

A fair point, she supposed, as he turned from her and went to his cabinet again. Her new outfit consisted of old boxers and a t-shirt that had a fleur-de-lis on it. Probably a team of some kind. Saints, was it? Didn’t matter.

She was clothed enough that she was allowed to crawl onto the bed, eagerly finding her way under the sheets.

Ugh, so soft. So wonderfully soft. She sighed happily, nestling down into the bed. It didn’t matter when the weight shifted behind her, blankets tugging a bit. As a murderer and cannibal got into bed with her, turning off the lamp.

It would have been better if he didn’t snuggle in behind her, his thick arm draping over her, drawing her tight against his chest.

Whatever. She’d given him a good blowjob. He certainly wouldn’t kill her that night, would he? She’d gotten a pass.

She’d done well. She could continue to do well. Maybe he’d stop chaining her if she was good enough.

Something to hope for. A chance to escape, someday.


	4. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go on a date. Is it a date? No, definitely not. But to people on the outside who choose to ignore the healing black eye and the crooked, swollen knee Sep limps around on, sure, it looks like a date. Sep's not sure how to feel about it. She's not entirely sure how to think anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most songs by Emancipator give me big Black feels now, especially 1993 or Old Devil. This man is too fun.

Warm.

She was warm. It was nice. And she was actually under blankets. That was a change. A huge change from the usual closet.

Of course, that was because she went to bed with that fucker.

Right. She should probably get up.

Sighing softly, she forced her eyes open, blinking quickly to focus. The wall. Okay. She was facing the wall. That was okay. She just had to roll over and-

A breath behind her. Yup. He was still in bed. Okay. That made sense. It was his bed. He could be wherever he wanted. It was just a bit strange to wake up on her own time, not being shaken awake by him going to work.

So she slowly rolled over, bracing herself for whatever.

Of course he was still there. His arm was off of her, though. Face slack with sleep, he was almost vulnerable looking. Almost. He was still a horrible, hideous piece of shit that ate people. That kept her chained in his house as a maid.

She should try and kill him. He didn’t keep her from the kitchen knives. She could do that, right? Hide a knife up her sleeve, wait until he was dozing on the porch, and slit his throat. No, grip his hair and saw, and saw, and saw at his throat until blood kept pumping and pumping, until the blade skated across bone and all he could do was gurgle.

But she’d still be chained in the house. And no matter how hard she had tugged on that loop in the floor, it hadn’t budged. So killing him would just result in her dying by starvation or something.

Okay. Find out where he kept the keys to her collar, kill him, get the keys, then escape. Yeah. Good plan.

Maybe.

She should get up. Get breakfast started. He didn’t normally stay in bed that late, so maybe he’d want breakfast. Whatever reason he was there for, she couldn’t take any risks.

Moving slowly, she pushed herself up, letting the blanket slide down. She’d have to crawl over him. Or she could off the end of the bed. That was probably a better idea. Less risk of waking him. Just go make breakfast. There was still some ham in the fridge. She could make something up with that.

Glancing uncertainly at him, she edged towards the bottom of the bed. Just go and cook. Just-

His hand moved faster than she thought, clamping down on her ankle. The sudden contact made her yelp and press flat to the bed, like a swatted pup. Damn. Instincts were fucked. 

“Where you going?” He grumbled, his voice thick with sleep. His breathing hadn’t even changed. Geezus. Had he been awake the whole time?

“I’m going to make breakfast. Since you’re still here. Don’t…don’t you work today?”

“Nope.” He yanked on her leg, ignoring her hiss of pain from her knee. “Get back up here.”

Shit. Uh. She turned around, carefully laying herself back down beside him. Was that what he wanted? His eyes still didn’t open, but his breathing did change. Waking up, then.

“Don’t you…don’t you want breakfast? Since you’re-”

“Nope. Eat breakfast in town.”

Uh. Okay. So he was going into work later. That was fine. But she was hungry, and she didn’t really want to spend her time laying there with him when she had to clean. His house got so fucking dirty so quickly. It was a never ending battle. She was pretty sure there was some kind of small animal in there? Fucking things up? She just couldn’t find the damn thing.

And it was quiet. Did he want to wake up? Was she still there?

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but apparently anything was not appreciated, as his hand slapped down on her throat, squeezing just a bit too hard. Shit. Okay. Don’t talk.

“No one’s come looking for you.” So sudden. It was a threat. It had to be. “No missing posters, no cops. You just vanished, and no one’s come to check.” His eyes peeled open slowly, burning into her flesh. “How could that be?”

She had no idea. Her editor was a piece of shit, most likely. But she just glanced aside, swallowing hard around the tight grip of his fingers.

“Speak,” he snapped, dragging her attention back over.

“I…” Her throat clicked. “There’s no one to look for me.”

“Family? Friends?”

“No. No one.” His grip loosened, but his hand still rest there, on her skin. “I had my work. That was all.” No one would look for her. No one would find her. There would be no help coming for her at all. It wasn’t like her editor would really care. If she wanted to live, wanted to be free, she would have to do it herself. “I tried to find people, make connections. It didn’t work.”

Whatever it was that she said, he was satisfied with it. He rolled away suddenly, climbing out of bed without any preamble. He didn’t talk, didn’t comment, just got dressed, replacing that same gross hat on his head. Always that same hat. Ugh.

She sat up in bed, scratching awkwardly at her head, watching him move about the room. Well, he’d chain her soon, and be on his way. A day as normal. Just-

“Why do you have to be so thick,” he grumbled, dragging open the bottom drawer of his cabinet. “There’s- Oh. There.” He turned, tossing something at her. “Get dressed.”

Her brow furrowed a bit when she unfolded the cloth. A dress. A nice dress, actually, probably never worn. Taken from one of his victims, then. Why was it in his drawer, though?

“Go on. Don’t take forever.”

“Right. Yes. Of course. Sorry.” Hobbling out of bed, she dragged off her t-shirt, dragging on the dress. Thankfully, it was tight enough that it held her breasts in place, but it was kind of short. The boxers hung out the bottom. That was a bit strange looking, so she could only step out of them.

Breezy.

Before she could even step out of the room, he grunted, a sharp sound that had her whirling back. Did she do something wrong? Had she-

“You’ll need shoes. Here.”

Shoes? Wh…

“Why do I need shoes?”

“Because.” He straightened up from wherever he had been digging through in his closet, lumbering over to her, looming tall, eyes narrowed. “People will give me shit if I let you walk around without shoes. Can’t draw attention.”

Shoes. Dress. People. Breakfast in…

“Are you taking me to town?”

Too much excitement in her voice. Too much, too loud, because his eyes narrowed yet more and he took a step forward, making her stumble back. Her knee twinged just enough to make her fall into the cabinet by the door, barely holding herself up.

He loomed over her. It was almost uncanny how the air could shift the moment he stood over her, staring down at her with his eyes narrowed, his lip curling back in such a vicious sneer that her stomach dropped down to her toes, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow. He didn't need to say anything. She could feel every bit of threat in that look, every bit of a promise that she would suffer if she dared to do anything that attracted attention to what was happening there.

Yup. Okay. Yeah. That was. That was pretty clear. Yup. She nodded quickly, swallowing around tears and puke and anything else that wanted to come out.

“Don’t make me regret this. I don’t do well with regret.”

“Yes s- Black. Yes, Black.” Absolutely. Yup.

He stared at her for too long, then offered his hand. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

Geezus fuck. Okay, sure. She took his hand, lurching to her feet. Before he led her out, he reached for her neck. Right. Her collar. Collar. Yes. That wasn’t exactly a good sign. But he took her collar off, and set it on the cabinet. Nice. Good.

But he took her hand again, hauling her out the door. She was leaving the house. She could see more. She could…not talk to people. Because he would follow through his threat. He would absolutely go through with it. There was no doubt.

It was so weird to actually leave the porch. To step back into dirt. How many days had it been? Too many. But at least he gave her sneakers to wear instead of those stupid heels she’d worn before. Much more reasonable. Weird that he held her hand. Whatever.

Down the driveway, and a truck came into view. A typical kind of southern truck, she figured. Beat up, paint peeling, it was still kind of a relief to see. A working car. Yeah. Something she could possibly use when she got out of there. If she got out of there.

Why the sudden want to take her into town, she had no idea. She just tucked herself meekly into the passenger seat, buckling in like a good girl. She was a good girl. She would be a good girl. She could try and ask him, but he wasn’t all that into talking in the best of times. She could figure it out later. Or she could never know. Not knowing was fine. She could survive on not knowing.

Black grunted when he slid into the car, pausing a moment so he could pop open a storage slot in the dashboard. Grabbing up a toothpick, he jammed it between his teeth, apparently satisfied with his setup. It was enough for him to start the car, put it into gear, and drive on out of the driveway.

Okay. Just driving. Into town. That was okay. It was okay.

Maybe.

“May I roll the window down a bit?” Fresh air sounded nice.

“Yeah. It’s a crank.”

“Thank you.” Gripping the handle with both hands, she turned it just enough to let some air whip through, tossing her hair about. Warm breeze, a bit muggy. It was nice. “Thanks for taking me into town.”

He grunted, rolling down his own window so he could rest his crooked arm on it. “Need you for groceries. Don’t know what we need.”

Oh, he was talkative! Might as well take advantage, maybe work some things out. She’d been a pretty talented manipulator when she was among actual human beings. She could work something out with him if she played her cards right.

“Still. Thanks. I could have written you a list, and you’re taking me anyways.” He glanced over at her, so she offered up a smile. “It’ll be nice to see some people. Not talk to them or anything. Just…see them. You know?”

“I guess. Don’t much like people.”

Go figure. She still smiled, smoothing her dress over her legs. “Liked people enough to keep me around.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “Face didn’t irritate me when I raped you.”

Oh. “You’ve raped a lot of people.”

“Probably.” He shrugged again. Such carelessness. He really was a sociopath, holy fuck.

“Do you…particularly enjoy…rape?” Because that was a good conversation topic. Totally. Yup.

“No more than the next man.”

What in the actual fuck. “People aren’t supposed to like rape.”

“Like getting off. They don’t want it, not my problem.”

Geezus fucking Christ. She shuddered, forcing herself to turn and look out the window. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about all the poor people that had been tortured just to get him off. Fuck. Focus on something more important.

“So…you kept me because my face isn’t gross?”

“Guess so. You also came fucking hard. Get off on rape and beating, mm?”

It wasn’t the beating. That hadn’t been it. Did he need to know that? No. Would she tell him?

“Actually…”

Apparently, yes.

“It wasn’t…I mean. I didn’t like being beaten. That wasn’t it. When you grabbed me. Forced me over the car. I…I like being…forced. To be bent over. And taken. That was what got me wet.” And it took all of two seconds to get her soaking wet, hm? Just a bit of force. Fuck. “If you hadn’t bent me over the car, I probably wouldn’t have. Gotten off. On it.”

“Ah.” The truck bumped as they finally got off the dirt road and hit pavement. “That’s fucked up.”

“I don’t rape people, Black. And I don’t eat people. So. Am I really fucked up?”

“Yeah. You are.”

Right. Well. He was one to talk. She sniffed in distaste, watching the trees whip by the car. Like talking to a child. His logic was fucked. Okay, yeah, she had some problems. All it took was a big, strong man bending her over a hard surface to get her riled up. And yeah, it had been a really bad time. Maybe it shouldn’t have happened after she had been beaten. But it had happened.

They’d fucked. He’d pinned her to a car. And he’d fucked her. And she’d orgasmed. Hard.

And…and she’d do it again, wouldn’t she? Sure, she could talk about how much she had no choice in the matter all she wanted, but it had felt amazing. The last time she’d had sex, she’d never been made so mindless, made to cry out so loudly. And yeah, there were plenty of issues with that, but there was some broken part of her brain. Some part of her, some animal part of her that wanted the roughness, the unfamiliarity.

Even in his lunchtime greed, she got so fucking wet. Even if he didn’t make her come, she liked it so much. Too much.

Fucking strangers got her off. Fucking dangerous people apparently made it better.

Turning her head just slightly, she peered at Black from the corner of her eye. Maybe talk more. Maybe.

“Um. If…if the fact that I came made it better, then maybe you could try not raping people? Willing people come too.”

“Don’t much care if people come.”

Of course not. Whatever. She probably wouldn’t like how the conversation would go. Just quietly enjoy the ride. Yeah.

“Have plenty of willing people, too.” He spoke so suddenly, it was hard not to twitch. “You’re not special.”

No, of course she wasn’t. She knew that. Didn’t have to tell her that.

It took a while, and maybe she dozed for a bit. But the passing sight of a building snapped her awake. Um. In town? Now? Okay. Not bad. It made her perk up, watching as more buildings collected up. Small businesses, maybe some houses. And finally, people. She saw people. Actual people.

A tingle of something like joy filled her as the truck slowed. People. She wasn’t trapped in some kind of hell. That was actual real life.

Good god, it was real life. Geezus fuck.

“Remember,” he growled, snapping her attention back over. “Not a word. Not a sign. Nothing.”

“Yes. Of course. I know.”

“Alright. Come on.”

Sure. She slid out of the truck, smoothing her dress down once she was out. Right. No panties. No need to be indecent in town.

Black tromped around to her side, casting her a glance, like he had to make sure that she wasn’t already trying to signal for help. She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t going to do that. Satisfied enough, he caught her hand again, squeezing just a touch too tight.

But he didn’t drag her. That was good, right? He coaxed her into walking beside him, taking her up to one of the nondescript buildings, pushing the door open. A bell jingled, drawing the attention of a few people within.

A diner, it seemed. It smelled like grease and coffee, and it still smelled like food. Enough to make her stomach grumble eagerly at the promise of food.

“Blackie!” A waitress called from the kitchen door, waving eagerly. “Go on and take a seat, hon’. I’ll be right with you.”

Of course he knew people. She swallowed nervously, eyes darting around at the other people in the diner. Pretty typical setup for a southern diner with southern clients, she figured. She didn’t spend too much time in the south, and in the swamp? There was probably a typical type of person who lived in a swamp. People like Black. People who had a favorite hat that they wore every day, who didn’t care if there were tears in their shirt, who had a pair of boots that looked like they’d dragged them miles and miles.

“Sit.”

Right! Right. She hurried to sit at the little booth, sliding in to the seat. He sat across from her, letting out one of those gruff sighs, tapping his hat further on his head. She was in public. With a killer. She could hold on to it.

He took her to breakfast. Okay. Normal. Totally normal.

“Good morning, hon’,” the waitress sighed as she sashayed up, holding her little notebook right, twirling her pen on her fingers. “How’re yo-” She cut off when her eyes finally landed on Sep, choking her off. “Oh? Who’s this?”

Shit. Uh. They hadn’t talked about that. Uh. Should she say something? Shit.

“September.” Black pulled his toothpick out of his mouth, gesturing at her with it. “Meet Ruby.”

Ruby. Okay. She smiled as sweetly as she could, folding her hands on the table. “Nice to meet you, Ruby.”

Ruby arched a pretty little brow, tapping her pen on the pad. “And where’d you come from, September?”

“The truck there.” She waved vaguely at the door of the diner, keeping her sweet grin on her face. “Blackie drove us here.”

Black snorted, thudding back in his seat. “Now now, Ruby, no fussin’ over nothin’. Bring two of the usual. Coffee for me, and…” He lifted a brow at her, tapping the unchewed bit of his toothpick on the table.

“Hot chocolate? Please?” Because she could use that comfort.

“Hot chocolate for her. Tout suite.”

“Alright then, Blackie. Alright then.” Ruby glanced Sep over once more, turning away so deliberately. Still that same sashay when she left, though.

Huh. Sep’s smile turned a little more real. Just a little.

“Ruby has the hots for you.” When Black just grunted, she snorted, facing him. “She does! I just made her jealous.”

“Don’t read too much into it. Ruby gets mad at everyone prettier than her.”

Uh.

Sep blinked slowly, smile fading. Did he just…call her…pretty? He called her pretty. That shouldn’t matter. But it did. Weirdly, it mattered. It made her cheeks flush a bit, a hand somehow finding its way into her hair, brushing back the strands. And the motion wasn’t lost on him, his brow twitching up.

“Shut up,” she huffed, looking out the window.

“Didn’t say nothin’.”

“You said enough with your face.”

“How does that work?”

“Shut up.” Still, it brought some other things to mind. “Never brought a date before?”

“Nope. Prefer eating alone.”

And yet, there she was. Sitting and waiting for breakfast. “This is surreal,” she sighed, resting her cheek on her hand. “You know that, right?”

“Sure I do.” He didn’t spare Ruby a moment of his attention when she brought their drinks. Well, it seemed like it, even when he hooked his fingers in the mug handle. “Better not be anything wrong with that hot chocolate there, Ruby.”

The waitress paused, the mug an inch above the table. “Well now, I’m offended that you’d think I’d-”

“Ruby.” He turned his attention over, a deliberate drag. “Bring a new one.”

“You’re a son of a bitch, Blackie.”

He just hummed, lifting his coffee, taking a long draw from it. Nonplussed, as usual. Whatever it was, Ruby knew what it meant, as she just grumbled, leaving with the mug of cocoa.

“And yet, when I’m gone, she’ll be right back to trying to jump on your dick.”

“Oh yeah? And where are you going?”

Uh. That certainly implied some things, didn’t it? But he didn’t sound angry, didn’t push a threat. It was like he was genuinely interested in what she meant. Well. Um.

“I can’t imagine you’ll bring me back here that often. And…you’ll tire of me eventually, I’m sure.” And slice her up and eat her. Yeah. A nice September steak with a cold beer. That would happen eventually. “So. You know.”

He grunted. He was good at that. 

Whatever. Any conversation she could try to have ended when Ruby brought out their food and her new hot chocolate. And if there was one thing she could appreciate about the whole thing, it was a good Southern breakfast.

Considering she hadn’t seen that large of a breakfast in a long, long time. It was like everything that could have ever been made in a kitchen was piled on a plate, all steaming and lovely. Hashbrowns, sausage, eggs, even white gravy and a few biscuits, there was nothing she didn’t like there.

She was a good cook. She knew that. But having someone else make that kind of food for her? Pure bliss. She wasted absolutely no time digging in to it, letting out a pleased hum at the taste of it. There were no attempts to add anything healthy to that. It was good to be out of California, where everything had to be so healthy, or organic. Nope. Just good ol’ grease and flavor.

Only when her stomach started to lean more towards popping with how full it was did she look up. Damn man finished off his whole plate already. He had a bottomless pit for a stomach. Right. Focus.

“Uh.” Clearing her throat, she set her fork down, making herself sip from her cocoa. “We should…have a story? If more people ask about me. Because I’m under the impression that they will.”

“You’re the writer. Figure something out.” Black pulled out yet another toothpick from somewhere, sticking it in his mouth while he rummaged through his pocket, pulling out enough cash to cover their breakfast. “Make it believable.”

Peachy. “Fine. Whatever.” Because she knew what believable was when it came to him. She didn’t know shit about the man. He was quiet. He had mental issues. He liked bone marrow and music, and hated mosquitos. He liked cold beers with his casserole, and would rather die than eat a cooked carrot. She agreed with him on that part. Cooked carrots were nasty.

“Alright. Groceries. Come on.”

She could do groceries, even when the grocery store seemed to be a half indoor-outdoor market that would probably be a huge issue when it rained. Whatever. She had a farmer’s market like that back where she used to live. She could figure it out.

“Stay close,” Black growled to her once they stepped inside, grabbing up a basket from the stack, hooking it over his arm. “Grab what we need.”

“Sure. Yeah. Of course.” She nodded quickly, glancing around the ramshackle shelves. “We need more potatoes and onions. Um. Garlic. Cinnamon.”

“Go grab them, then.”

Sure, yeah. She hustled off, with him in tow, going down the little aisles or produce and other things, selecting through what they might need. She had no idea how often he’d want to come back into town for shopping, so maybe she should stock up.

But she couldn’t press it, right. When she’d pick up an item, she turned, showing it to him over her shoulder. He eyed it, judging it, then would either nod or shake his head. Clear system. He mostly nodded. That was good.

And it was all so smooth, all so reasonable. They were doing well, even when they got lingering glances from other people who seemed to know Black. It was fine. It was all fine.

Kinda.

“Now who’s this pretty little bird?” A hand clamped down on her ass. Hard. Like, really hard. Normally, she’d lash out, but a grip like that actually made her leg go a little numb. She yipped because of it, fumbling with the apples she had been inspecting.

“Hands off, Ryan.”

“Ah, she’s with you, eh?” The hand released, each finger unpeeling slowly. Ow. “Didn’t take you for a chubby chaser. Little sister, then?”

Completely ignoring how weird it might look, she backed up quickly, brushing past her assaulter until she bumped pretty hard against Black’s side. After all, the evil she knew was far better than the evil she didn’t.

And the other evil certainly didn’t look great. He might have been handsome at one point, but it seemed like his skin had come loose from bone, hanging limp. He wasn’t old, couldn’t be old. Drugs, maybe?. Bright eyes, crooked grin, he looked entirely like someone she would pull her switchblade on if she met him on the street back home. He oozed creep factor. More than Black, actually, which was an achievement.

“Do you make a habit of grabbing asses?” Sep hissed, pressing much too hard back into Black’s chest. “Fuckin’ creep.”

“Oi, where do you get off talking to me like that? You don’t even know me.” Ryan tsked, grinning at Black like they were both in on some joke. Maybe they were. “Smart mouth on her. Not a sister.”

“Girlfriend,” she spat, even before her thoughts could tell her no. No, that was a terrible idea. More than a terrible idea. Did Black even date people? Would he even entertain the thought of dating people? Geezus fuck, that was why she wanted to talk it out, holy fuck. Go with it. Make it believable. Maybe. Fuck.

That gave Ryan pause, his grin faltering a bit as he let out a nervous little laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure. Black doesn’t-”

“I don’t what now?” Black drawled, his arm draping around her shoulders in a lazy slump. “Tell me what I don’t do, Ryan.”

That made him falter even more. Uh. Good. “No shit, then? You got yourself a girl?”

“Sure did. And you know how I feel about people touching my things.”

Real fear on that fucker’s face. Good. And Black seemed to be going with it, so she turned into his embrace, hooking her own arm behind his back, resting her palm between his shoulders. She even pressed her cheek to his chest, feigning intimacy. Good plan. Yes. Good.

“Fuck, Blackie, I didn’t know. My bad.” Ryan put up his hands, taking a step back. “Uh. Start over, then? I’m Ryan. And you are?”

“September.”

“Mendax,” Black added, adjusting the basket he carried. “From the books.”

There was recognition there, Ryan’s eyes lighting up the moment he understood. “No shit? No fuckin’ shit. How’d that even happen?”

“You’ve read my books?” Was she more popular than she knew down there? The fuck was happening? When Ryan nodded quickly, she offered up a smile, then her hand. “Uh. Nice to meet you?”

“No shit.” He clasped her hand in both of his, shaking it vigorously. “Man, that Russian fucker’s my favorite character.”

Of course he was. The most fucked up guy in the whole book would be his favorite, wouldn’t it? Still, that made her wonder about how much they all really knew. Had no one really put out any missing posters for her? Had her editor assumed she’d just ditched?

“Wrote some letters,” Black sighed, like it was nothing. “Then she came around.”

“And we hit it off.” Pretty sure she could follow where he was going with it, even as sick horror filled her gut. Was he lying? He was good at it, if he was. She got fan letters from time to time, but her editor mostly threw out the weird ones. Had he? Would he? No, no way. “So here we are.”

“Letters, eh? Shit.” Ryan tsked, shaking his head in the wonder of it. “Maybe I should write more letters.”

“Wasn’t aware you knew how to write.” Squeezing her a bit tighter, Black jerked his chin forward. “Now if you don’t mind, we’re shopping.”

“Yeah. ‘Course. Maybe I swing by and we have a beer again, yeah?”

“Sure. Call first.”

“You know I will. Never drop in on you, Blackie.” Ryan backed up a few steps, a thought coming to mind apparently, as he snapped his fingers. “Right! Got an envelope for you for those gator skins. Got me a real good price from some tourists. Real nice.” Ryan kissed his fingers in a creepier version of a chef's kiss, that horrible grin coming back. “Remind me to bring it by, yeah?”

“Yeah, Ryan. Later.” Black kept her close, coaxing her into turning and heading down another aisle. “Girlfriend.”

“I told you we should have figured it out beforehand,” she snapped back, a full shiver running through her. “I panicked. Shit. Have you ever had a girlfriend before? Did you write letters?”

“No. To both. Girlfriend.” He snorted, shaking his head. “Word’ll spread fast.”

“Not my fault. Absolutely not my fault.”

As much as she wanted to stomp off in a huff, she slowed, eyes catching on a few little bags on one shelf. Seeds. Vegetable seeds. Tomatoes, green beans, pumpkins. Hm.

“Black? Can we…can we get some?” She touched a bag, glancing up at him. “I can grow some of our food. You’ve got some good soil around there. Maybe?”

He sniffed, glancing down the line of bags. Really thinking about it. Made sense that he would, anyways. She’d have to be allowed outside to do that, and did he really want to risk that? They both knew she was a prisoner. It would be a risk, no doubt.

“Pick what you want,” he finally grumbled, unhooking his arm from around her so she could move freely. “Be reasonable.”

Right. Reasonable. Just one bag of the ones that she wanted. She knew tomatoes always got out of hand extremely quickly, and she wasn’t the best at growing things. One step at a time, one bit at a time. She had to remain useful, something he wanted to keep around. Something that would do better as a companion then as a side dish.

By the time they made it back to the shopping counter, word certainly had spread. The way the shopkeeper looked at the two of them, it was clear that they knew. Everyone had to know at that point. Ruby was going to be so pissed. And it was a lie, a good lie, that would excuse a lot of things so long as they sold the lie, right?

She had to sell the lie.

When he started to unload the basket onto the counter to be rung up, she pressed against his side again, resting her hand on his belly, patting lightly. It caught his eye, giving him time to pause and focus.

“Thanks for the seeds, Blackie,” she murmured to him. Right. That was a thing people would do. “Mind if I go wait in the car?”

There was a bit of suspicion, but he still shrugged. “Yeah, go on.”

“Thanks.” Sell the lie. Be an absolute idiot.

Lean up and kiss his cheek, just next to his lips.

Be absolutely unprepared for the sheer jolt of something ridiculous through her. Holy shit. Feel that jolt explode into something much bigger at the look he gave her.

Car. Yes. Car good. Car NOW.

Maybe she bolted. Who cared? But she left the shop very quickly and found his truck just as quickly, flinging herself in the passenger side. Yup. Hiding was good. Because she was a fucking moron who kissed a cannibal. What the actual fuck.

“What is wrong with me,” she groaned, grinding the heels of her hands into her eyes. So many things, she knew, but there was surviving. And then there was being a dumb cunt like she was.

He would fucking kill her in an instant if the fancy struck him. It was only blind luck that kept her alive that long. She should have known better than to touch that fucker. That killer. That absolutely lethal man that was stronger than anyone she had ever fucked. Geezus.

She’d only ever been with paunchy guys, with that round, hairy kind of gut that sat on her pelvis when they fucked her. She’d never been with anyone who was nothing but corded muscle, lean strength, with scarred hands that dug bruises into her hips when he slammed in deep. She’d never laid back and given herself to something that could choke the life out of her if it gave him a momentary satisfaction.

Good gods, she was horny again.

Curling against the passenger door, she thudded her fist into her forehead a few times. Beat some sense into her. Wearing a dress that belonged to a dead woman, wearing no panties, she felt so slick between her thighs. All because she’d kissed him on the cheek.

The flinch was well deserved when she heard the thud of the groceries being dropped into the bed of the truck. It made her curl up even tighter, especially when the driver’s side door opened, and he slid in.

Shit. Fucking shit.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. No no, he just had to clamp his hand on her knee and yank, ignoring her yelp, roughly spreading her legs. It forced her dress up, allowing him to see her pussy. See how wet she was.

Nothing more. He let go of her, starting the truck up. He didn’t talk, didn’t make any kind of sound. No, he just drove them out of town. And drove in silence. Which didn’t necessarily mean much, did it? He never said much. It was like he was allergic to talking. It was fine. She was fine. He wasn’t mad. There was a reasonable explanation why he forced her legs apart. Yup. Totally.

Just as there was a totally reasonable explanation why he suddenly pulled off on the side of the road.

Fuck. Oh god. She’d fucked up.

But he didn’t move. He just exhaled. Slowly. Deeply. Through his nose.

Was that…a good thing?

Choking down her fears, she lowered her arm just a bit, peeking out over her shoulder at him.

He was looking at her. Partially turned towards her, eyes narrowed, breathing ragged, he just stared. Like he wanted to eat her, take big chunks out of her flesh, devour her whole.

Was rocking a bulge in his jeans, though. There was that.

“Um,” she whimpered, carefully uncurling her legs, making herself straighten out, face him better. “I…uh.” Did he want her to run? Or… She reached out slowly, twitching back when his eyes flicked to it dismissively. Be brave. He hadn’t hurt her yet. So she extended both hands, cupping his face carefully, feeling facial stubble scrape her palms, pushing her fingers comb through his sideburns, resting over his ears. Holding him steady, she scoot in, tilting her head to the side a bit. He was totally going to bite her. He was breathing like a rabid dog. But she had to do something. He was staring at her.

So she kissed his cheek again, just as she had before. Another jolt, another illicit thrill that had her clamping her legs together tightly. Totally normal. And he didn’t move, so she shifted over, slotting her lips over his in what could be a somewhat innocent kiss.

But it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Knowing her, knowing how fucking turned on she was, she didn’t let it be innocent. She nipped at his lips, as if daring him to bite her too. Stupid. Really stupid.

She drew back, mentally cursing herself. She was going to get herself killed in the name of a really ridiculous boner. She shouldn’t touch him. Shouldn’t-

His hand cupped behind her back, keeping her from going too far away. He yanked, hard, her ass sliding across the seat until she was almost under him, which was right where he wanted her. 

Because he growled, and kissed her on his own.

Maybe that was what it was like being devoured. He kissed like a man starved, messy, and that was as much opening as she needed. The moment he started up with it, she responded, immediately, eagerly, meeting his kisses with just as much fervor. He tasted of grease, of their breakfast, but underneath there was a sort of sickly sweetness that she didn’t really want to think more about. Between gasping breaths, it would most definitely look horrible to anyone who happened to see them in that car.

Not that she cared. She didn’t care how uncomfortable it was. Her bad knee was all jammed up between him and the back of the bench seat, the other halfway draped over his lap, she was victim to whatever attentions he wanted to give. Which was a lot.

Honestly, had he never been kissed like that before? It was a distinct possibility, wasn’t it? With a man like him, with the people he normally fucked, who would kiss him? He did say he had consensual partners, but how many people wanted to kiss a mangled mouth like his?

She would. Happily, it seemed. Her arms slid around his neck, holding him tight, even pushing a hand into his hair and shoving off that stupid, gross hat.

Ow. Okay, so he did bite lips a bit.

But she could chalk that away with other complaints. Mostly with the complaint that he stopped kissing her. And she did complain, a little, whining low in her throat when he pried her arms off of him. Why was he stopping? Was there even a partially good reason to stop?

Black huffed, turning as he fairly kicked the driver’s side door open so he could slide out. And she thought that was the end of that, but he turned back, grabbing her ankles and yanking. Hard. It slid her across the seat, smacked her arm into the steering wheel, but ultimately ended with her half hanging out the driver’s seat, her dress hitched up in her armpits.

Which was what he wanted, as he slotted his hips against hers and kissed her again, hand gripping her hair much too tight. Didn’t matter. His jeans rubbed against the sensitive flesh of her vulva, grinding against her clit and she was very happy. Very happy indeed. And he seemed happy to dry hump her, grinding the rough fabric into her with all the eagerness of a teenager.

Okay. Okay, that was teasing. She arched back, gripping the steering wheel with one hand, the other fisting in his stupid, filthy tank top, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. Talking would be a good idea, probably. Say words.

“Please,” she choked out, hooking her legs around his waist, squeezing him tight. “Please, Blackie, please!”

“Fuck,” he snarled, so suddenly and so abruptly that it almost snapped her out of her pleasure haze. Almost. Good thing it didn’t though. He shoved her back up into the car a bit, his hands tearing at his jeans until he could get his dick out.

Yes, good. Please. Yes. Yes!

“Yes!” She sobbed when he dragged her back down, thrusting into her hard. Not like it mattered. Her body offered no resistance, only taking every single inch of him completely with the worst wet sound. She was soaked. Absolutely soaked.

He was so gross. So filthy, so sweaty, so scarred and murderous and cannibalistic and there was absolutely no one else she ever wanted to fuck ever again. Wrapping her legs around him tight, she rolled to meet him more enthusiastically than she thought she could, more than happy to ignore the ache of her core muscles.

She felt like one of those stupid hentai girls from her horny teenage years, with hearts in her eyes and ridiculous, screwed up expressions of pleasure. Didn’t matter. She just couldn’t stop grabbing him, digging her nails into his shoulders and kissing him, really kissing him, fucking him in a way she didn’t know she could. When he slid down and bit at her throat, because he liked biting, she threw her head back and gasped out his name so eagerly and so happily, it was like she didn’t even know what he did. What he could do.

He could rip out her throat if he wanted. Wouldn’t even take him two seconds. He’d just gobble her up whole and jerk himself off on the leftovers, wouldn’t he?

Her eyes rolled back before she could think any more of it, digging her heels into his ass when she came. Pure, blacked out senselessness. Maybe she said something. Maybe she cried out. She didn’t know. But she did come, holding on to the steering wheel too tight, other hand clawing at him, begging him for more, more, more. And he gave it. He eagerly gave it.

Black snarled like a beast when he came in her, the sound choking off into a broken, drawn out moan. It was lovely, actually. He held her so tight, pressed into her so deep, and came so hard.

Holy shit. Like. Holy fucking shit. She was fuzzy headed, drifting in and out of wanting to sleep and…and wanting more. But she couldn’t ask for that. She was…she was a toy for his use. He would only give more if he wanted more. That was all.

But damn. Holy fuck.

Black’s throat clicked when he swallowed, drawing back from her. The slow, hot slide of his cock again drew a watery little moan from her, not that it mattered. He straightened up, running his fingers through his hair to sweep back the sweaty curls, looking down at her with those eyes so pale they were almost piss yellow.

Traitorous thoughts twisted in her head, swirling. She fought them. Part of her fought them. There were wordless arguments, insists of something else, but above all, she felt a flush of something through her, something that she would loudly and eagerly say if asked.

He was so hot!

“Blackie,” she whispered, voice hot and maybe a little seductive. Okay, maybe more than a little, because his brow quirked, his hand dropping from his hair to rest on her thigh, squeezing a big handful. “Um. I…” She would like some more, please. Yes please.

“Get out of my truck.”

Oh. Um. Shit. She nodded quickly, letting her legs drop to carry her momentum out. Her weak knee, both from injury and post-coital exhaustion, made her slump a bit. Before she could straighten up, he caught her shoulder, roughly turning her around again, forcing her to bend slightly.

Fuckin’ hell, he knew that turned her on. Geezus.

Bracing her arms on the seat, she rested her forehead on them, breathing out shakily. Her body just throbbed, absolutely pulsed with too much want, too much need.

“Fuckin’ hell, September,” he growled, hand clamping on her thigh, making her lift a leg. “Would you stop dripping?”

Sorry? “I can’t really control that,” she murmured, flinching when there was a particularly thick drop that ran out of her. Semen. Definitely. “Not like I had any panties.”

“You’re going to get that all over my car seat.”

“Not my fault you turn me on so much.” She meant it as a grouse, but his hand did come to grip the back of her neck really hard after that. “Sorry. Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

He hesitated. His fingers twitched against her neck, his hand turning so he could cup his palm over her throat, tugging until she tilted her head back. For some reason, she expected words, but he didn’t have any. He just nuzzled into her hair and breathed deep, not that she knew why. She probably stank of sweat and gross soap, but whatever. She couldn’t stop him.

“Get back in,” he eventually grumbled, letting go.

She obeyed. What else could she do? She just tucked her dress until her butt and tried to keep her muscles clenched up tight, holding it in. And as much as she wanted to look at him and ask questions, she made herself look out the front windshield and remain silent.

It took some time on the drive back home, but he did find his hat and put it back on. There was definite tension, especially when they did get home, and he carried the groceries back in the house, putting them away. She just awkwardly followed behind, keeping her legs pressed tight together to hold in what wanted to drip out. 

When he turned on her, she just closed her eyes, and waited. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch when he stomped towards her. She did, however, let out a soft whine when his hand clamped over her nose and mouth, tight enough to hurt. He started to shove her backwards, but thought differently. All motion stopped as suddenly as it started.

He let go of her abruptly, letting her collapse to the floor.

And off he went, out the front door, to lord knew where. Just gone.

She’d done something wrong. She could only guess what he would do to her because of it.


	5. Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's peaceful. He's been calm and kind to her, in his own way. It's been nice. She's relaxed some, and for a time, forgotten what he was, what he had done to her.
> 
> Black is ever so kind as to give her a reminder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I wrote this, I wondered if Black was a tits or an ass man. And then I realized probably he's more of a 'whatever my dick fits in' kind of guy.

No matter how she hoped, she knew something would go wrong. That was just how life worked. That was what it was like whenever she let her guard down.

Sep hummed softly, running the hose into her watering can. The tomatoes were already growing really well, which was nice. Gave her something else to dote on.

Something besides Black.

He still let her sleep in bed with him. And more and more, she found herself curling towards him, reaching out to lay a hand on his side. He didn’t argue. He just sighed, closing his eyes.

And he let her kiss him.

That was nice. Rather than just have him check to see if she was there, he’d reel in her chain so she could lay a hand on his cheek and give him a kiss hello. Sometimes he’d just keep it to a little peck, but sometimes he’d linger and let her get a little warmer.

Like he didn’t lash out at her at all, which was weird. She had to have pissed him off before. He’d gone all grumpy for like a whole day, but nope. Then it was back to normal, with her being chained during the day, cleaning, cooking, and taking care of him.

And that was fine. She was actually fine with that.

Because it could get worse. She knew it could. She liked the calm routine. And she liked that he lengthened her chain so she could go outside to take care of her garden. That was nice of him.

Which was wrong. She knew it was wrong, but what could she do about it? She wasn’t going to get out of there. No one was looking for her. No one would ever look for her. She just had to live until he decided he was done. And some stupid part of her hoped that maybe, if she was nice enough, he would consider not killing her before letting her loose. A hope, a dream, something to look forward to as her knee continued to pulse and twinge with pain.

Sep paused on the porch, adjusting the volume of the radio. Another gift she was allowed. He gave her permission to use it after she made some garlic butter shrimp he particularly enjoyed.

A good song was on. That was nice. It made her roll her shoulders a bit in time with the music as she knelt in the dirt, carefully tucking the spout of the watering can under the leaves of her plants so she didn’t give them mildew. Careful love for her vegetables, only that would do.

It was getting later in the evening, though. She had dinner mostly ready, but she really needed to get in there and finish it up. Black would be home soon and would want to eat right away.

He was good to her, wasn’t he? Yeah, a little. He didn’t smack her around as much. Sometimes, he’d make up an ice pack for her knee when they watched TV on Sunday nights. Let her rest her head in his lap and he’d keep the pack on her bad knee. Sometimes he’d play with her hair. Those were some of her favorite times. He could be sweet to her. His brand of sweet.

She had to take the good where she could, right? Keep her happy in her last days.

Ah shit. Locust.

Tsking, she set her watering can aside, sorting through the leaves of her vegetables, finding the little buggers where they hid. As much as she just wanted to let them loose, she knew they’d come back. So instead, she twisted off their little heads and stashed them in her hoodie pocket. Sometimes Black liked roasted bugs. A surprise treat, then.

That time, she heard the truck rattling up. Well, she didn’t have dinner completely done, but she could make him a snack while he waited. That would be good enough, right?

At his touch to her hair, she looked up, smiling at him. He looked a bit grumpier than usual, but he hadn’t smacked her, so maybe not so bad.

“Hey Blackie,” she sighed, smile softening when he cupped her jaw a bit. “I’m making chicken and dumplings for dinner. Just need to drop them in to the soup pot and it’ll be ready to go. Caught some hoppers too. I can roast them up for you.”

He grunted, turning away like he was disinterested. But he wasn’t. She knew he wasn’t, because he patted her cheek lightly as he brushed past. Affection. Yes.

She was doing well.

Bouncing to her feet, she limped into the house, going back into the kitchen. Spreading the little bug bodies on a baking dish, she sprinkled them with spices and set them in the oven to roast for a bit while she finished up the soup.

A good day. An especially good day, since when Black came in to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, he stopped to unlock her chain, huffing when she thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. 

Maybe someday she would be brave enough to try and initiate sex on her own. Wouldn’t that be nice? Just slide her hand down in bed, cup him through his sweats, feel him thicken up under her touch, hear his breath rush a bit faster.

Nope, that wouldn’t do. Focus on something else, lest she become useless and needy.

“Ah, fuck,” Black snapped from somewhere in the house, catching her attention. “Who the fuck invited you?”

“Is that heron back?” Setting down her soup spoon, she followed the noise to the back porch, where Black stood. Tucking in against his side, she peered out the screen door at whatever he grumbled at.

Not a heron. Nope. Three gators.

“Uh. Why are there so many?”

“Egg laying season. No fuckin’ on my back porch,” he growled, turning away from the door. “Stay inside. Gotta lure them off.”

“Right. Yeah. Dinner’ll be done when you get back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuckin’ gators.” He grumbled the whole way as he went out the front door, looping around to the back.

So grumpy. Cute. She shook her head at it, wandering back to the kitchen to get back to work. It’d take a little while, no doubt. He was good at trapping them one by one, she knew that. But three at once? That would take some extra care, wouldn’t it?

Cutting the dumpling dough with a pizza cutter, she hummed softly to herself as she dropped the little slippery bastards in. They’d puff up nice and big in that broth. No messy vegetables in their chicken and dumplings, no sir. Just chicken and dumplings and good, rich broth.

So focused was she on it that when the face appeared in the window above the sink, she let out a very, very good scream.

“Sorry miss! So sorry!” The young man gasped, lifting his hands in surrender. “Just no one came to the door when I knocked. Could you come to the door? Please?”

Uh. Um. Hand still pressed to her chest, trying to hold back the pounding, she nodded quickly. But should she? Go to the door? Was that a good idea? Black was out back of the house. Surely he heard her scream. He’d be coming.

Maybe it was a friend of Black’s? Like Ryan was? Thank goodness she hadn’t seen him again for a while. Didn’t like that guy. Probably a friend. Black lived out in the middle of nowhere. No one came out there for no reason.

Steeling herself, she went around to the front door, pushing it open so she could see the young man.

A cop. It was a cop. It had to be a cop. His hair was cut too clean, he stood too straight. He must be a cop.

“Sorry to scare you so much, ma’am,” the man quickly greeted, offering his hand to her. “I really did knock a bunch. Honest. I think it was the radio that drowned me out.”

“No harm,” she laughed quickly, almost manically, taking his hand, shaking it. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m Trevor Gradney, miss. Private detective. Now, I’m out here because I’ve been looking for a missing person. A young woman. I managed to track her car’s security GPS to the swamps, but wouldn’t you know, it’s not all that accurate. Have you perhaps seen a white Hyundai Sonata around here?”

Oh. Oh. Oh god.

Her car. Her. They were looking for her.

She went pale, she knew. Her face felt cold. Her hands felt cold. Everything felt cold. Someone came looking for her. Someone missed her. Someone…

“P…pearl,” she breathed, hands dropping a bit. “It’s…it’s pearl. Not white. Pearl. So. It. So it sparkles. In the light. Pearl.” Because that fucking mattered right then. Oh yes, most important fucking detail.

His brow furrowed. That detective, his brow furrowed as he fought to figure out whatever it was that she was saying. But whatever track his thoughts had been on faltered, as his eyes dropped a bit to her collar. Her thick, metal collar, and the dark purple bruises underneath it from the sheer weight of it. Her bare feet. Her faintly crooked leg.

“You’re…you’re her,” Detective Gradney breathed, eyes widening. But there was that moment where he realized someone had to put the collar on her, his hand snapping up to his belt. He had a gun.

That was when she saw the shape sliding up behind Gradney, sliding too fast and too smooth. She saw the glint, and it cleared.

Black slapped his hand down on the young detective’s shoulder, holding him steady as he stabbed his fishing knife up into his back. It was so smooth, so confident. He’d done it a million times. His expression never even changed.

“Black, no!” She cried out, but what was the point? He just drew the knife out and stabbed again. And again. And again.

The detective, he was well trained though. Despite the stabbing, he shouted, twisting and slamming his elbow into the side of Black’s head, knocking him back enough for him to try and grapple for the knife.

Blood poured down Gradney’s back as the two of them grappled. It didn’t stop him, though, as he shifted and shoved Black off of him, giving him enough time to back into the house with her, hands tearing at the gun at his belt. Before he could get it out, before he could bring it to bear, Black slammed into him again, sending them both sprawling onto the floor.

“Get to my car, go! Call for help!” The detective frantically shouted at her, but all she could do was back up, staring with wide eyed horror.

Black snarled, throwing himself over the man, using his weight to keep the skinny kid down. Detective Gradney tried to punch him, but Black just caught his wrist and lunged.

And sank his teeth into the man’s arm.

Gradney howled in agony as blood splattered across him, the splatter only worsening when Black reared back, tearing a chunk out of him with absolute ease. The detective faltered enough, weakening, unable to resist when Black smacked his hand out of the way.

Black had the knife. She could see it back in his belt. He had the option. But no. Of course not.

He snarled, more animal than man, and lunged. And sank his teeth into Gradney’s cheek, ripping a hole in his face. More screams, and Black bit again, ripping, tearing, devouring his face. He didn’t spit the parts out. He swallowed them. Whole. Raw. Bloody. He fairly purred when he bit into Gradney’s throat, taking the full pulse of blood straight into his mouth.

When he reared back with a mouthful of bloody meat, she squealed in abject horror, stumbling back a few steps. She should have stayed silent. When she made a sound, when she existed, his wild eyes turned her way, focusing on her.

No, no no, don’t look at her like that. Not when he knelt over a bloody, wheezing body, bloody meat in his teeth, his face a twisted facsimile of something human.

She shouldn’t run. She knew running from predators was the worst idea ever, but what could she do? What could she possibly do? Nothing. Nothing besides scream and turn, and try to flee. But where could she go? What could she do? Her knee still wobbled, and he was still so fast.

No more than a few steps were taken before a hand curled in her hair, yanking her back. She screamed when she felt flesh tear, hands clamping over his to try and lessen the pressure, but that meant she had nothing to steady herself with. She slipped and stumbled, allowing herself to be dragged back through the house, to the wheezing pile of what was Gradney.

Black dropped to his knees there, by the body, hauling her along with him, slamming her into the floor. He was breathing so hard. Oh god. Oh god oh god.

Yanking on her hair, he forced her to roll over, forced her over, shoved her down until her face was mere inches from the bloody, mangled mess that was Gradney’s face. Where his eyes still rolled in their sockets, searching for something, while he bled out and gasped and choked on his own blood.

“No!” She shrieked, planting her hands on the floor, trying to shove herself away. “I didn’t call for him! I wasn’t going to go! I swear, I wasn’t! Please, Black, please! I wasn’t!”

He just snarled. And pushed harder.

It took a lot of strength to turn her head, but she still screamed when her cheek smeared across blood and god, bone, she felt bone. Oh god oh fuck-

“Please! Black, please! What did I do? I wasn’t going to go with him! I want to stay!”

“You stay, you eat.”

What? No, please no, she couldn’t. She couldn’t! “Black, please Black, I can’t, I can’t do it. Please! Please stop!”

“Eat!”

“Why? Black, Blackie, please, please!” She was sobbing. More than sobbing. Heaving, choking breaths, tears and snot streaking down her face, she could only wail when he shoved her onto her back, his knee slamming down on her chest to keep her pinned. And still she screamed, trying to thrash, trying to fight.

Because she knew it. She knew there was no stopping him.

Keeping her steady, he yanking his fishing knife from his belt and leaned over Gradney. He grabbed a flopped arm, carved out a chunk, and leaned back over her. It was a delicate slice. A dainty bite. Something a lady might eat.

If it wasn’t human flesh.

When he neared her with it, her jaw clamped shut, eyes wide and bulging with absolute terror. No, no no, please, no. Anything but that.

“You open up. Now.” Or else. She knew the implication. Open up or else. 

Please. Please no. No. No!

His bloody fingers were way too strong for her jaw. He gripped, forced, pried her mouth open and shoved the slice into her mouth, only to clamp his palm over it once more, sealing it in.

It was such a sudden change. She didn’t know Black well, not really, but to have him go from that laid back, easy going southern man to the monster holding her down, forcing raw, bloody flesh into her mouth…

That was hell. What she was living. That was what hell was like.

She screamed as loud as she could behind his hand, her tongue spasming and twitching away from the meat in her mouth. Human flesh. Human body, in her mouth, so fresh, so hot and so bloody.

It slid so easily. Maybe she had been trying to scream, but that wasn’t what happened. The meat slid down her throat, and unless she wanted to choke, she had to swallow, chest heaving, swallowing down human meat. Oh god.

Oh fuck. She…it was…

She snapped a little. She had to. Her body went limp, eyes wide and distant. Maybe she blacked out. But she knew Black took his hand away, sliced more off, shoved it in her mouth. It took less of a fight to get her to swallow that. Everything was hazy, especially when Black leaned off of her, lunging down at the detective, at the body to sink his teeth into flesh, to tear. To feast.

It was like a fucking zombie movie. Her head lolled to the side, a shred of meat still clinging to the inside of her cheek. She watched Black rip open the Gradney’s shirt, sinking his teeth into shoulder, gobbling up meat in horrible, raw mouthfuls.

His face was so smeared. So much blood, pieces of tissue clinging to his stubble. He seemed undeterred, breathing so hard that it was like he was drowning, desperate for air. He was a cannibal. The cooking, the preparation that she saw before, that wasn’t what he liked.

No. He liked it raw. He liked it twitching, liked it on his floor and bleeding.

She flinched when he turned back to her. He looked a little less wild, but there was still all that blood. And there was a freakish gentility when he cupped her jaw, leaning down and kissing her.

He tasted of meat and blood. It coated his tongue, but how could she tell? She had the taste in her mouth as well. He’d made her that way. He’d forced her to.

“No more pussyfooting around,” he murmured against her lips, thumb brushing over the pulse in her neck. “You live here with me, you eat what I eat. You’re mine. You’re on my land. You do as I say.”

“Please,” she wheezed, stomach clenching, but nothing coming up. “I…I can’t.”

“You will. You. Will.”

Why. Why did she have to. Why did it…why was it so important? “I don’t want to. Blackie, please, I don’t…I can’t…”

“You're mine.” His voice was a low croon, his head tilting, dragging his tongue up her cheek slowly, smearing blood over her skin. His hand wandered down, smoothing over her chest, squeezing her breast greedily. “I want you,” he purred, hand sliding further down. Bloody hand, fingers slick, sliding up under her hoodie to push over her cunt.

Please, no. Please. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want to. But what choice did she have?

Her body would not stop spasming. Her arms and legs lurched, like they wanted her to throw up, but her body wasn’t having any of it. She just kept twitching, twitching, even as she made herself reach for him, resting shaking arms around his shoulders to hold him close. It was a far better thing to fake compliance than it was to resist. She knew what he could do, what he could force upon her. She didn't want it to hurt, oh gods, she didn't want him to hurt her.

He liked that. He growled, kissing her harder than he had before, pushing at her clothes, fighting to undress her. Next to a corpse. Oh god.

“You’ll like it,” he purred, hauling her up, shoving her over onto her knees. Over the body. “The meat, the taste. Crave it. Get your pussy so wet over this, for me.”

Oh god. Oh god. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to. She whined at the push of his fingers inside of her, stroking roughly when he reached past her with the knife. When he sliced Gradney’s abdomen open and sank his hand in, yanking out a coil of intestines just to rub it against her cheek. It was so warm.

“Please,” she whispered, everything shaking. Why wouldn’t she puke? Why couldn’t she puke? She wanted to puke. She wanted to shove up that meat from her belly and she just…she just couldn’t.

It was her fault. She had forgotten he was a monster. It was her fault. She had let herself believe that he was fine, that he would never do anything like that to her. She should have known his true side would come out, and she was the one that let him believe she would take it. She shouldn't have stopped fighting. Fuck. Fuck!

And she was taking it. She was the one that shuffled her knees apart, lowering her shoulders when he pushed, whining when he hooked a loop of intestines around her neck loosely like a fucked up necklace.

She couldn’t close her eyes. She stared at the body beneath her, her breathing rough in her chest, her entire body quaking. It was almost enough to distract her when he slid his cock inside of her, but not quite.

That was when he was vocal. That was when he took his full pleasure, when he had a full belly of human meat, when he had his cock buried in a hot body. That was all he wanted. That was his actual enjoyment. His snarls, his groans were loud and more than pleased, desperate for release with no gentility in the way he pounded into her.

She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to become like the body on the floor, bleeding, chunks taken out from his ravenous bites. She would not have her body, her flesh become nothing but an afterthought, something he picked out of his teeth. She wouldn’t.

She would survive. She would get out of there. She had to.

When he came with an enthusiastic shout, she just whimpered, taking what he had, unable to think. Unable to stop shaking.

“Fuck, baby,” he purred, hauling her up by her intestine leash, pressing breathy, eager kisses to her cheek and neck. “Look so good like this. Feel so good.” His cock still sat inside of her, his hand skating down her front so he could rub at her clit with blood slick fingers.

Please, don’t.

He lapped over the blood on her skin, rubbing out her pleasure, somehow managing to give her some kind of satisfaction. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want to come. Not when there was blood in her mouth, meat in her teeth. No. Please. Please!

Her orgasm came out like a wail, the scream of a dying woman. But it was a good sound to him, wasn’t it? It had to be, since he snarled and jerked up against her ass when she clamped down on him.

Fuck. Fucking fuck. She didn’t want to. Please.

“Alright, baby,” he sighed, letting go of her. “Go on and finish dinner. I’ll clean this up.” He was so calm. So relaxed. Fuck. But what could she do?

Each breath sounded like a sob when she shoved the guts off of her, wavering to her feet. Yes. Dinner. She hobbled out, slipping on blood, everything so hazy. So fucking hazy. But she could hear enough. She heard rustling, then his voice, clear.

“Hey Ryan? Got a present for you.”

Sep had to brace herself on the counter by the stove, feeling her skin on her face draw tight with drying blood. She wouldn’t die there. She refused.

She would survive.

She had to get clean, had to get it off. Her hands fluttered like butterflies, hardly able to grab the sink faucet and turn it on. Make it cold, make it the coldest water, to freeze away the warmth of blood and tissue, take away the red, scrub it away with soap. Pink bubbles, dripping off of her skin into the sink. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't.

Sep wailed softly, hunched over the running water. It felt better to make a sound. To complain. It felt better. She wailed again, aching for tears when none came. Just wash, get clean, and cook. Cook for the worst monster she had ever seen. Back to the dumplings, yes, put them in the pot. Dinner for Blackie, dinner for the monster.

That was the worst dinner she had ever had. Shoveling in spoonfuls, mechanical, detached. Black seemed happy enough with it. Grumbled soft praise, stroking a hand through her hair as he popped the roasted bugs into that horrible, twisted mouth. Affection for his pet. Affection for the creature he tortured.

She wouldn’t throw up. Her body wouldn’t let her.

Sep stared at the sink, feeling her stomach twitch from time to time. Just knowing that there was human flesh in there…it was too much. And somehow, she’d managed to have some soup on top of that.

Fuck. Fucking fuck.

Her shoulders went tight when Black came into the kitchen. He was calm again, like nothing had ever happened.

No, something had definitely happened, since he slid his arm around her waist and kissed the side of her head. Open affection. Now she earned it. When she didn’t want it. Fuck.

“Dinner was good,” he mumbled into her hair, rubbing her side slowly. “Want dessert?”

Don’t anger him. Pretend everything was okay. Survive. So she made herself smile, made herself look up at him. Hold it in. Her eye twitched.

“Is dessert an option?” Please don’t be human meat.

“Dessert’s comin’. Told Ryan to bring some.” He tipped in, kissing her forehead. So fucking affectionate. “Figured you could use something sweet.” He turned her, folding his other arm around her shoulders, keeping her close, actually hugging her, kissing her temple then. “Help you smile.”

Fuck. Fucking fuck. “Why,” she whimpered, awkwardly resting her hands on his hips. “Why are you being so nice now? Why do you care? Why the fuck did you make me eat that?”

He tsked softly, nuzzling down so he could kiss her. It was soft and kind of sweet, a gentle sort of thing that made her want to hit him as hard as she could. But that might incite violence from him, and he had long since made it clear that he could easily overpower her.

And he might have kept kissing her if not for the loud, obnoxious honking that came up the driveway.

Black hummed, rubbing her back briskly as they separated. “Come on. Make nice.”

Yeah. Sure. Make nice. She could do that. Even if her limbs wouldn’t stop shivering. Fuck.

She stayed in the kitchen to continue cleaning up while Black went to the door, stepping out on the porch. With the window cracked, she could hear plenty well as that obnoxious fucker came stomping up the front steps.

“Blackie! You’re spoiling me, you know!”

“Not on purpose. You got something for me?”

“I’ve got lots for you. Envelope, of course, just as I promised.”

Black hummed, the rustle of paper audible. She knew his sounds too well. Could feel the approval pouring out of that sound. Her teeth felt like they were going to explode with how hard she grit them.

“I’m telling you. Tourists. They have no idea about bargaining. Didn’t even try to talk me down.” There was definite pride in that smarmy fucker’s voice. Ugh. Nasty. But there was a pause. A long pause. “Uh, I swear, I didn’t take more than my cut.”

“Know you didn’t. Bring the rest of my shit?”

“Oh, of course! Of course! Give me a second, it’s in my car.”

The front porch creaked. “September. Come on out, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Fucker. But it wasn’t like she could say no. She just set the dishes back in the sink, heading to the front door, like he wanted.

The sun was setting, the light warm through the trees. Blackie stood, just easy as you please on the front step, hands in his pockets, watching Ryan scramble down through his car. Piece of shit. All of them. All of it.

Even her. She should have made plans to run a lot sooner. Fuck. It was her fault. It was all her fault.

Blackie turned a bit, a faint smile touching his lips. Smiling at her. Fucker. But she still went to his side, her body spasming when his arm hooked around her. Revulsion, something. Who knew?

“Ah, there she is,” Ryan sang, turning away from his car with a box in his arms. “Blackie’s girlfriend. Awful cute, awful cute. And real spoiled, eh?”

Spoiled. Right. Did he not see the blood stains on her sweater? Did he not see the bruises? The terror in her eyes?

“Didn’t know you liked girlies, Blackie. Ain’t you a queer? Saw you eyeballin' one of our regular delivery guys over at the plant.”

Black shrugged, a sharp jerk. Oh, so she was extra not special. Lovely. “Wasting time, Ryan.”

“Alright, alright,” he tsked, coming up to the front step, grinning up at her. “Your man likes you good. Got some presents for you before I can get my present.” Reaching into the box, he pulled out a pink pastry box, waggling his brows. “Some sweeties for the sweetie, you pampered princess. And.” He set the box back down inside, then rummaged past it, pulling out some clothing. “Some clothes! Give you something to wear, you know? Even some panties, since you weren’t wearing any the other day.”

Yeah, he would have known that considering how far up her ass his hand had been.

“Figured you’d want something better to wear than my old stuff,” Black murmured to her, rubbing her arm slightly. “Since you’re here to stay.”

Eating that poor detective really had been the one thing to make him more amenable to her. That was all it took. It was like flicking a switch. Fuck. At least her survival was a little more assured, then. And she would find her way out. She would.

“Thank you, Blackie,” she whispered, extending her hands to Ryan, to take the box from him. “This is all very kind of you.”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

“Yes yes, you’re welcome,” Ryan tsked, rubbing his hands together. “Now come on, what do I get? What’s my present?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Black sighed, heading down the steps. “Come on, then.”

Could she go too? Should she? Or should she-

“Come on, little birdie. You should be a part of this too.”

Okay, that answered that. She set her box of things down on the porch, hugging herself awkwardly as she stepped down the front steps. Before she could step off onto dirt, Ryan tsked, putting his hand up to her.

“You’ve got no shoes there. Let me carry you, to save your soft little feet, eh?”

Um. She glanced past him to Black, lifting a brow. Because despite everything, she still had to defer to him. He was the one that held her life in his hands.

“Don’t pull any shit, Ryan.”

“Of course not. I don’t fuck with anything of yours. I’m not that stupid.”

Black made such a disbelieving sound, his head tipping to the side just a bit. A simple, human motion that twisted up her gut something terrible.

Ryan pressed a hand to his chest, gasping indignantly. “You wound me! And I thought we were friends.”

“You don’t have friends, Ryan.”

“Rude. We’re friends, aren’t we birdie?”

Uh. Um. “Sure?” She guessed, rubbing her foot on the worn step. “You were going to carry me?”

“Ah, yes. Only the finest of chariots for Black’s girlfriend.” Ryan turned on his boot, kneeling down. “My back will do, yes?”

“Uh. Yeah. Thanks.” Even though she had no panties on and probably dripped semen a bit. That was fine. It wasn’t like she cared about him. She hooked her arms around his neck, hitching her legs on his hips as he stood up. Weird way to be carried, but she’d take it.

“Sturdy girl,” Ryan crooned, hooking his hands under her thighs. He might have thought it was a compliment, she didn’t know. She didn’t really want to talk about it any more than she had to.

But at least he carried her well enough, not jostling her around too much. He had some kind of decency, not that she would count on it for too long. He was a creep, and would no doubt twist it around in a moment.

Black led the way down the driveway, over to the barn where the cars were kept. He undid the padlocks holding it shut, hauling the doors open wide. Stepping in, clicking on some light, the lights above illuminated all the cars inside, even as dusty and dangerous looking as they were. Including the detective’s car.

“Blackie!” Ryan gasped brightly, bouncing in place. “Please tell me that’s for me. Please? It must be. It’s so shiny and clean and new.”

“It is,” Black sighed, patting the hood. “All yours.”

“You spoil me. You really do. And it’s in such primo condition, too. What naughty things did you do to get this? Blackie? Birdie? What did you two do?”

Black sniffed, sauntering over to the two of them. He patted Ryan’s shoulder roughly, then caught her wrist, pulling her off of his friend’s back so he could pick her up, like she was a child. “You want it or not?”

“Of course I want it. I just want to know your sources” Ryan shrugged, rubbing his hands together eagerly as he looked over the car. “Brand new, too. You’re too good to me, Blackie. Too good.”

“Give you the gun to match if you wipe the records for another car here.” Black carried her over to a workbench, setting her down on it carefully. “Soon as possible.”

There was that grin, wide and sick and definitely full of ulterior motive. “Someone come looking for someone else, mm? Someone come looking for her? Someone with a shiny car and a shiny, shiny gun?” He leaned a bit closer, waggling his brows. “Hubby come looking for his wee little wifey?”

Uh. Right. Because Ryan was a fucking idiot and didn’t seem to notice the mean looking metal collar she wore. But she forced a smile, shrugging ever so slightly. Carefree. Easy. Not absolutely traumatized. Because if she wanted to survive, wanted to last long enough to get out of there, she had to lie. She had to lie well.

“Mark just wasn’t enough for me,” she sighed, flicking her hand dismissively, the motion stuttered by the fluttering her hand would not stop doing, like a jacked up butterfly. “Blackie’s letters reminded me that there was more. So I ran, came to him. I told Mark to forget about me, but I guess he couldn’t.” Sell the romance. Fuck. She was going to burst, everything twitching and shivering. She must have looked insane. Fuck.

Ryan tsked, shaking his head sadly. “No one’d ever run away for me.”

“Because you’re a piece of shit, Ryan. Will you do it, or what?”

“Yeah yeah, I will. For old times.”

Black shook his head, letting his hand rest on her bare knee. Possessive. Her skin prickled under his touch. She really wanted to smack him. Like, really hard. Across the face. Wouldn’t do any good. Just bear it. Take it. 

“Now come on, Blackie. Wanna have that beer now?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Black carried her that time, up to the house. It took some fuss, but it ended up with the two men sitting in the chairs on the porch, and her seated at Black’s feet, just as she was always meant to. She sat stiff and still, staring straight out at the driveway, like she expected something better to happen out there.

“You been getting into trouble there, Blackie? Mm? Ownership records? Guns? So suspicious.”

“Mmhm,” Black hummed, taking a swig from his beer, swallowing with a pleased hissed from between his teeth. “How many cops swung by your house these days?”

That make Ryan back down a bit, his smile faltering. “Not as many anymore. I think.”

“Right.”

A criminal too. She wasn’t surprised. It would be ridiculous to be surprised. Ryan seemed the type, but was he as bad as Black? Probably not. Would anyone ever be as bad as Black? Probably not. Black was the scum of the earth, worst than scum.

Black tsked, setting his beer down on his little side table. “Bring up that box there, baby. Come on.”

Oh, her? Great. She slid the box over, offering it to him. He just ended up placing it on the table beside him, then patted his knee lightly. Why pat. Why the pat.

“Come on, baby. Sit here.”

Fuck. No. She rather not. She hesitated, glancing over at Ryan a bit. And he just grinned at her, wide and creepy. Fuck him. Fuck them both.

“No need to be shy, birdie. Go on, sit on your man’s lap.”

Shy. Hah. Shy. As if. But what could she do? What could she argue? All she could do was fight to get to her feet, take his offered hand to steady herself. He didn’t hesitate, hauling her over into his lap, adjusting her seat until he could outright drape her legs over his lap, resting his hand on her bad knee.

“This’ll make you feel better,” Black mumbled, bringing the box of pastries around to their shared bit of lap. Drawing back the lid, he rested his hand on her back, rubbing slowly, encouraging her. Like a shit. Fuck him.

How dare he assume some pastries would make up for the fact that he force fed her meat? Human meat? But she was surrounded. She had no friends, no help. All she had was him. That was the cruelty of it.

So she selected a pastry, brushing the excess crumbs off into the box. Something with some kind of fruit. She had no idea. It would serve the right purpose.

“So. Haven’t heard from Simon lately,” Black sighed, setting the pastries aside. “You get anything?”

“Last I heard, he was being trained again for some kind of bodyguard shit? Bullshit, I’m sure. That boy can’t keep a steady job for the life of him. And that company reeks of religious cult bullshit.” Ryan tsked, placing his palms flat on either side of his bottle, rolling it back and forth slowly, staring at it intently. “Think he’ll ever get better?”

“No. People like that don’t change.”

Sep glanced between the two of them, nibbling at the puff pastry bullshit in her hand. Someone else they knew. Someone else as fucked up? She had no idea.

“Oh. Right. Might as well check, hm?” Black’s hand folded over hers, taking the pastry from her hand. “Grab the box. Make sure Ryan brought you good stuff.”

Talkative. She scowled down at her legs, leaning forward to hook her fingers in the box, dragging it over. Black watched her, watched her dip her hands into the various clothing, taking a bite out of the pastry himself. Sharing food. How nice. How romantic.

Random clothes. Made sense, since they didn’t exactly ask her what she wanted to wear. However, the more she looked at them, the more dismay filtered through her. Especially each time she checked the tags.

“Most of these are my size,” she sighed, not quite sure who to look at. “How are they my size?”

“One of my many talents,” Ryan crowed, lifting his beer bottle high in a salute to himself. “See a person, know exactly what size they are. Makes it real handy when I’ve torn their old clothes off, you know? Be able to grab something real quick for them in replacement, real nice.”

Ominous. She just blinked slowly at him, rubbing a bit of cloth between her fingers. He had to make everything sound weird, didn’t he? That was just the way that he was.

When Black offered up the pastry to her again, she…well, she knew what she wanted to do. And she knew her helplessness. So she just took a bite, like he wanted. It did taste good, added something else for her to focus on besides that lingering twang of blood that clung to the back of her throat.

At least there was a variety of clothes that Ryan brought. Shirts, dresses, shorts, she had some variety. She was a tad concerned about the bag in the bottom, though. With some groping, there it was. She felt the stiff wires of bras. She knew it. Fucking hell.

“This is weird, Ryan,” she sighed, unzipping the bag, only for her stomach to twist up even more. “Where did you even get such lacy stuff?”

“Don’t be a brat. I got you some nice things, didn’t I? Why is she so spoiled?” Ryan tossed his hands up, like he honestly was offended. “I bring her nice things, and she complains.”

“Don’t take it personal.” Black shrugged, taking another bite of their dessert. “She gets upset quickly.”

Yeah. Talk for her. He never talked except when it was about her. Geezus. Whatever. At least she’d be a bit more comfortable past that point. No more just hoodies and the sort. Maybe if she wore clothes, it would slow Black down if he wanted to-

Fuck. She so willingly and happily fucked him before. She took him with so much enthusiasm, begging for him. Fuck. She should have resisted, should have done something else. She’d kissed him on her own. Fuck.

Setting the clothes back in the box, she felt the overwhelming need to kick her feet and cry. But she couldn’t. She shouldn’t. All she needed was comfort of some kind. And all she could do was turn and hide her face against Black’s neck.

“Aww, sleepy baby,” Ryan cooed, and Black just rumbled out a soft laugh, folding his arms around her. Holding her sweetly. Asshole.

“Rough day.” Black shifted his weight forward, setting the box aside. “Go on and take the car, Ryan. Expect you back with clean records before I give you the gun.” Apparently done with the conversation, he stood, picking her up with him. “Now go on.”

“So rude,” Ryan whined, but he still got up. “Keep that girl on a short leash, Blackie. You’ll never find another like her.”

With any luck, she would be the last person he ever hurt. It wasn’t likely, though. It would take time for her to figure things out. She was weak, without any advantage, even when he fucked her. He was always better off.

But he could still surprise her. Maybe it was pretend. Maybe it was a game. She didn’t know.

“I know,” Black sighed, soft and entirely fond. Of her. What the fuck. Could he even be fucking fond? No. It was a lie. He had to be faking it. Or it was an obsession, something twisted that he mistook for fondness. Men like him didn't care about anything. Monsters like him didn't love. “Goodnight, Ryan.”

A good thing. It was a good thing. Yeah. If he liked her, thought that he liked her, then maybe he would be more willing to do more for her. She could try and push for more. Yeah. She would find some way, anyway, to work it to her advantage.

He didn’t even set her down inside. He just carried her on to the bedroom, laying her down carefully on the bed. He did leave her for a moment so he could bring the box inside, she was sure, but that was fine. It let her sit there, her thoughts a horrible whirl.

He liked her. Making her eat flesh made him more affectionate. She could work with that. Hopefully he wouldn’t make her eat more. But. Well. She had to survive. She had to.

Black heaved such a world weary sigh as he came back into the room, plucking his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. “Hell of a day.”

Yeah, no kidding. Because he raped her over a corpse. Fucker. She just scowled up at him, not quite sure she could say to him. He didn’t care, did he? He just undressed for bed, kicking off his jeans as he slid under the covers, tucking her in with him.

Her body stiff and still, she refused to move, even when he flicked off the lights, settling down beside her, staring at her sour expression. 

“Gets easier,” he murmured, like that was some kind of comfort. “Start to enjoy it, even.”

Right, fuck him. She rolled over, putting her back to him. She didn’t even want to know he existed in that moment. Couldn’t help it, though, when he slid up behind her, spooning her entirely.

Her stomach felt full and slimy. How long would that feeling last?


	6. Retaliate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can't bear it. Not a second more. She has to do something, but she needs to remember.
> 
> She probably isn't the first thing he's had chained up in his house. He knows what caged animals do. He's always known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmkay ya'll I've had this warning in the story the whole time. So no complaints. It's like the first warning on there. You knew it was coming, I knew it was coming, and here it is.

The disgust she felt that next morning was almost suffocating.

It was all she could do to lay there, staring at the wall in front of her. She’d eaten human flesh. Not willingly, no, but she had consumed the meat off of a living man because she had been held down and forced to. And on top of that, it was because of a man that she had…

Fuck, she had started to like him. Really like him. Even when he had struck her before, made it clear that she had meant nothing, she had genuinely started to like him. Looked forward to him coming home, cook extra well just to see that tiny, barely there smile that sometimes touched his lips, she’d enjoyed seeing him. Had sought him out to kiss him, because kissing him had felt good.

A murderer, a rapist, and a cannibal. And she liked kissing him.

Such self-loathing, it ached in her bones. How dare she stop fighting for even a moment. How could she have even considered anything but fighting with him? How could she have relaxed? Slept beside him? Wanted to…

Was she that starved for affection that she would do that? That she would even…

Sep shuddered, curling her fingers in the pillow under her head. How could she? How could she?

She was a monster. She had been forced into some things, but other things, she had outright wanted. She hadn’t tried very hard to escape. Passing thoughts, idle curiosities on how she would kill him, but never any action. She never even tried. Excuses. So many excuses. And who cared if she starved to death after killing him? At least he’d be dead, and he wouldn’t be hurting anyone else ever again. That was good. That would be good.

She had to help other people. People like Gradney, who had been killed so quickly and so efficiently, left to bleed with his flesh torn off in such chunks. People like her, even. Make it so Black couldn’t hold anyone captive ever again, force them to eat, force them to their knees because it got him off.

He was a monster. But so was she. And maybe, just maybe, she could make the world better by getting rid of two at once.

She forced herself to roll over, her limbs heavy, sluggish. She had to do something. Right then, that day. She knew it. And she knew that she’d either succeed, or she’d die. Be ripped apart and eaten.

That was preferable. At that point? It was better than living with herself, living with the knowledge that she had wanted him, even when he had chained and beaten her. She didn’t deserve to continue on.

Sliding out of bed, she shuffled on out of the bedroom. The running of water echoed out from the bathroom. He was showering. Good. Yes.

With numb legs, she limped into the kitchen, dragging the skillet onto the stove. Clicking on the burner, she started heating it up. Idly swaying, she went to the knife block, fingers brushing over a few of the handles. The wood was worn and smooth in her grip, but it would do.

The shower taps squeaked off when she made it to the door. He wouldn’t expect it. She could do it. She had to do it.

When the door opened, she smiled a little, eyes out of focus at his chest. Bare chest, scarred skin, vulnerable.

“You alright, sweetheart?” His voice was soft. Concerned. Fucker.

Her smile spread a little more. There had to be tears in her eyes. “I just…” Her throat clicked audibly. “I just wanted a good morning kiss, Blackie. Before I made breakfast.”

He hummed, his hand brushing her cheek. Cupping firmly, he drew her in, his lips brushing past her cheek so he could nuzzle in close by her ear. Her arm drew up tight, prepared to stab, prepared to make some kind of difference in the world for the first time in her fucking life.

“Really think I’m that fucking stupid.” Black crooned, low and thick and dangerous.

Fuck.

Her arm jerked forward, trying to stab anyways, not that it did any good. His other hand clamped down on her wrist hard, so hard, bones ground together and she yelped in pain, her hand spasming and opening, letting the knife clatter to the ground.

Properly disarmed, Black drew back and yanked on her arm, knocking her forward just enough for his knee to come up hard in her chest. Something popped. A rib had to have popped as all air was knocked from her, leaving her gasping and gaping, completely unable to defend herself when her hooked his hand around her throat and simply lifted and threw, flinging her across the floor.

She hit the floor so hard, her head cracking against wood, sending everything into a spiraling swirl. Fuck. She hadn’t even landed a scratch on him. Fucking hell, she was so fucking stupid.

“Figured you’d fight,” he sighed, bending down to pick up the knife. “Still kept that fire. But this.” He sauntered up to her, pressing a wet foot to her cheek, pressing hard, craning her neck to the side. “Big. Fuckin’. Mistake.”

“Fuck you,” she slurred, swatting weakly at his leg. No use. Fuck.

“Thought I’d save this for a special occasion, when you’d appreciate it. Now I see you won’t. Doesn’t matter.” His shoulder jerked, and he threw the knife hard at the far wall, where it stuck in and stayed put.

With his hands free, he dropped down quickly, sliding his foot off of her face so he could outright backhand her, keeping her stunned.

Useless. She was absolutely useless. Man was barely clothed, and she still couldn’t get the drop on him. Maybe she should have tried to plan something, but she couldn’t bear to spend even another moment near him. She wanted to get away, as far away as possible.

Black hauled her over onto her front, dragging her arms around behind her. There was a slide, and his belt came to loop around her wrists, drawing too tight, the edges of the leather slicing into her skin far too easily.

“Ungrateful,” he growled, using her tie to haul her up to her feet, the jerk nearly dislocating her shoulders. “Give you food, a bed to sleep in. Could have left you in the barn. This is how you repay me.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she managed to hiss back, stumbling over nothing. Maybe he’d kill her quick. Probably not.

Out the front door they went, him with steady, certain strides, and her with stumbling, lurching slips that hopefully inconvenienced him a little bit. She’d like to inconvenience him. Down one of the many winding paths to one of his countless sheds, he dragged her through grasses and weeds.

Liked her. Sure he did. He was so fucking rough with her.

The combination lock on the door did nothing to slow him, allowing him to haul the door open and drag her into the darkness.

It smelled like blood in there.

Oh no.

Black dropped her on the floor without much warning, turning to slam the door shut again, casting them both in complete darkness. There was no hesitation on his part, his feet moving steadily through the room, rummaging through things. And then click, and a light came on.

Sep groaned, flopping onto her side so she could try to look around. The shed had a concrete floor at least, keeping it from getting too damp. Nothing really decorated the place besides one of those stackable toolboxes in the corner, probably locked. And there was a pipe that stuck out of the ground. That had some wire wrapped around it.

And hooked around the corpse’s neck.

She inhaled sharply, eyes snapping wide as she tried to kick away. He let her go, let her slide across the floor until she was pressed against the shed wall. He just went to the toolbox, unlocking it to rummage around inside.

Oh god. She didn’t want to eat anymore human. Nope. Not ever. But she couldn’t look away from the body.

It wasn’t Gradney. Didn’t look that old, though. Not super fresh, but not old. When had he had time to…whatever. It didn’t matter.

She could see raw, red meat under the wires around the corpse’s neck. Kind of deep. He must have been alive for a while, stretched out on the floor, unable to fight. Since he had only part of his arms and only one leg. He must have had to lay there and watch as Black sawed off the meat that he wanted, hacked through the bone to get at the rich, fat marrow. She shuddered, closing her eyes tight.

He was going to do that to her, wasn’t he? Strip her naked, hack away the pieces that he wanted for breakfast, then leave her to bleed out.

The sound of cloth hitting the floor made her eyes snap open again. Confusion definitely filtered through her when she saw Black, still at the toolbox. Naked.

She’d never seen him completely naked, when she thought about it. Not like it mattered, but it was a bit weird to see him bare-assed in a room with a corpse and his next murder victim.

Confusion only mounted when he turned around, a small wood box in his hand. He cast a passing glance at her when he approached the corpse, but he had a mission. He knelt, straddling the torso, his back to the head, then outright sat on it.

The corpse made a sound. It faintly wheezed, the head dropping to the side a bit.

“Oh god,” she gasped, her mouth feeling entirely too sour and slimy. “What are you…” Her voice failed her, dropping away when her eyes fell down, to where Black sat.

Why the actual fuck was his dick hard?

Black hummed softly, resting the box on his thigh, popping it open with his thumb. He sorted through it, the faint clink of metal objects audible before he produced a thin metal rod. He eyed it critically, twirling it from finger to finger, then reached down.

His hand curled around the corpse’s dick, straightening it up so he could press the metal rod to the urethra, sliding it inside slowly. Halfway inserted, Black had to pause, letting out a shuddering breath as he slipped a hand back and cupped his own cock, stroking it slowly.

He was turned on by…by what? By sounding a dead man’s dick? What the fuck?

Undeterred, he pushed the rod all the way in, hesitating for only a moment, his fingers uncurling from the dick slowly. And somehow, the cock, still attached to a dead man, stayed upright, like it was erect. It did lean a little, but it certainly didn’t flop like before.

That was horrible. Why would he-

Why was he looking at her?

Black’s eyes flicked her way, his weight shifting as he got up from his seat on the corpse’s chest. And he came towards her.

No. No no. Nope. No. Please. God, no, what the fuck, no-

She shrieked when he grabbed her arm, hauling her towards the body. He threw her over to torso, draping her over it horribly. With rough hands, he hitched up her shirt, exposing her bare bottom half, then shoved her around, forcing her to straddle the torso.

“I wanted to save this,” Black mumbled, fingers pressing too hard into her shoulder. “Get you used to one thing at a time. Be kind to you.” He tsked, shaking his head when he stood, going back to the toolbox, pulling out something else. “Might as well get it all over with instead, hm?”

Nope. She gasped, trying to throw herself forward, off of the body, but his hand caught her hair, keeping her from going too far. Lowering himself to his knees in front of the torso, he slid her forward.

Bringing her body, her cunt, awful close to the pseudo erect dick of the corpse.

“Used to have to do this all the time,” Black mumbled, smoothing his hand from her hair to her shoulder, keeping her steady while he lifted his other hand. A vibrator of some kind sat there, one that he flicked on with a practiced swipe of his thumb. “Gets lonely out here. Not like they could tell me no, anyways.”

“Black, Blackie, please,” she wheezed, every inch of her skin crawling. It was bad enough that her bare ass sat on a dead body, but…what he was implying made it so much worse. “I don’t want to. Please. I’m sorry I tried to hurt you. I’m sorry. I’ll…I’ll eat what you give me. Please.”

Anything but that. Anything but what he was doing. Anything. Anything!

“Hush baby,” he murmured, meeting her eye. “You’ll like it.”

The hell she would! She screamed, the sound muffled when he dragged her in and kissed her. It was an awkward sort of attempt at a kiss, but he kept it up, kissing at her gasping, screaming mouth when he brought the vibrator to her cunt, pressing hard over her clit.

Her entire body spasmed. It had been a long time since she had felt a vibrator, and her body outright rejoiced at the rumbling stimulation, despite what she was so close to. Traitorous, horrible body, it only took a few seconds for her cunt to start producing fluid.

Just as he wanted, as he slid her forward more, until that cold piece of meat pressed against her.

She twisted her head away, starting her screams anew. Her legs spasmed, managing to get her to kick away, flop off to the side like dying fish. Her sudden success in escape made Black snarl, leaving her alone for a moment, only for him to return with rope.

No matter how she howled and begged, he was immune. He just struck her across the face until her kicking slowed, then tied her legs so they remained folded, unable to extend at all.

Back on the corpse she was set, but he wasted no time with foreplay that time. He lifted her, then sat her down, pushing the cock of that poor, dead corpse up inside of her.

She had no idea she could make the sounds that she did. Such horrible screams, howls of an animal, every noise imaginable ripped from her throat, so raucous and rough that she tasted blood at the back of her tongue.

“Shh, baby,” Black cooed, pressing the vibrator against her again, making her body jolt, try to recoil. “Big one, isn’t he? Not as big as me, but not bad.” He rumbled, so fucking fond. She was going to puke.

It was cold inside of her. Cold, and not rigid the way an actual cock should be. It pushed and rubbed and every nerve of her body felt like it was on fire, trying to crawl off of her, trying to get away any way possible. She still couldn’t make any vaguely human sounds. She sounded like she was dying.

His hand smoothed up the back of her neck, drawing her in for tender kisses over her jaw, his other hand steady with the vibrator, keeping her still and true on the body. So calm. His cock was so hard.

None of it could be real. It couldn’t be real. There was no way. No fucking way. But if it wasn’t real, then why was she screaming? Why was her face a mess of tears, of snot, of saliva, maybe even of blood?

She’d gone mad. There was no sense in her mind. Nothing. No words. All she had were her screams.

“Come on, let’s get you to ride. Then it’ll feel real good.” His hand slid down further, gripping tight on her ass, coaxing her into shifting, grinding on that piece of meat. When she started to twist, to try and fling herself off again, his grip tightened to the point of pain. “Sweetheart, this only stops when you come. So. Want this to end? Better start trying to finish. Don’t think you can fake it. Know what you look like when you come.”

No! No, please, please…

But he was right. If she wanted it to stop, she had to…she had to do something. So she wailed, she wailed and she cried, slumping forward against Black’s chest as she did her best to ride the cock, grinding forward against the vibrator.

If she zoned out, let her mind go other places, she could try and pretend it was a horrible, squishy dildo. Cheaply bought, to be used only once, she had to try. She had to do something. Focus on the vibrator, on anything else, just go distant.

“I’ve always liked this,” he purred, rubbing her back in a way he probably thought was soothing. “Can’t go soft on you, don’t thrust at any weird angles. Just what you want, just what you need. The perfect lover, mm?”

No wonder Ryan called him…a queer? Gay? Whatever. How much did Ryan know? How much did she care? Not all that much, really.

Her hips jerked a bit more. Maybe there was pleasure in her. Maybe her body knew what she needed to do to escape that horrible, horrible nightmare. But whatever it was, she felt relief trickle through her at the threat of it. So close, so close to being done, so close to wanting to rip her cunt out with her fingernails to get that horrible, cold feeling out of her.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.” Black’s hand drew away from her back, coming to his own cock, stroking himself quick and hard. “Look so good like this.”

Freak. Fucking freak.

She wailed, eyes screwing shut against blurry tears as her body spasmed. As she came on a corpse’s dick. And once those tremors faded out, she started to scream again in absolute horror. Absolute, horrible, gut wrenching terror of what she had done. How could she? How could she have possibly…

“There we go. Best part, isn’t it? Coming when you’re so broken, so tired.” He kissed her cheek, drawing the vibrator away. “Want to go again?”

Nope. No. She just whimpered, shaking her head weakly. So she had stopped screaming. For just a moment.

“Alright. Just hold on, then.” He slid her to the side, letting her lay on the floor beside the body. “Let me just…”

It didn’t matter. She closed her eyes, shaking and sobbing against the concrete, her cunt throbbing with leftover pleasure and horrible disgust. She didn’t watch, but she heard Black’s sigh of pleasure. As he used the body for his own pleasure. God. Fuck.

He was a necrophiliac. She should have known. She should have fucking known. Cannibal, murderer, rapist, necrophiliac. Horrible. Horrible man.

His sob of release made her cringe and curl up more. He was done. That meant his attention would move to her.

In a moment, she supposed. He shifted away, rummaging around. The toolbox rattled, clicking shut. Then he approached her, kneeling down beside her.

“Want you to enjoy things. Want you to be happy. Easier if you're happy. Can’t be gentle about it.” He reached for her, fingers rough, uncaring when he tugged her ties off, letting her limbs free. “Throw you to the fire, I guess.”

She cried out when he touched her face, even if it was a gentle touch. Repulsion, maybe. Terror. But he turned her head, coaxing her into opening her eyes and meeting his.

She hated his eyes. He had piss yellow eyes. Not brown, not green, but yellow. Like a monster.

“Fine. Stay in here until you realize there’s worse fates than being with me.”

No. No! She screamed again, trying to force herself up when he pushed away. In one, easy movement, he picked up his discarded clothes, dragged the door open, and disappeared outside.

It had to only have been a few seconds before she managed to slam her body into the area where the door had been, but there was no point. He’d already locked the door, locking her in with the body, with her shame.

“Black!” She screamed, pounding her fist on the door. “Please!”

Please what? Please kill her? Please don’t leave her alone in there? For how long? For what?

She wailed, slumping to the floor. All she could do was stay there.

Well.

At least he hadn’t killed her?

The smell was horrendous for a while. Then it wasn’t. Maybe it stopped smelling. Maybe she got used to it.

Maybe she was dead.

She didn’t really know.

All she knew it was dark. It was cold. It was hell.

She argued with herself a lot. Yelled at herself. She was stupid for trying to attack him. She had known she was too weak, but her exhaustion with the whole issue had made her do it anyways. It was stupid. She should have prepared. Waited until he was sleeping.

She should have let him hate her. His fondness had just made everything worse. She shouldn’t have kissed him, shouldn’t have…she was to blame too. It wasn’t real fondness. A man like him wasn’t capable of it. Something in his twisted mind wanted to keep her around, but he couldn’t actually care about her. She was just as fucked up for even considering herself to be lucky that he was…“fond”.

Or maybe she wasn’t. It was a little hard to think clearly when locked in a dark shed, left with nothing but a rotting corpse as company.

Sometimes, she tried to pace around the shed. That wasn’t a good idea, as her knee was still fucked up and she tripped on the body at one point. Sometimes, she tried to bang on the door. Didn’t do much but hurt her hands.

Mostly she cried. She sat in a corner and cried until she felt all wrung out. She was dehydrated, she knew that, but sometimes, water seemed to pool under the door. She lapped at that, desperate for anything. There was no food.

Not besides the corpse. And she wouldn’t eat that. All she had was water.

Too dark. How many days passed? Too many. Her thoughts could only twist and fight itself, controlling her, twisting her into something else.

She blamed herself. It got to the point where she knew the only person that was at fault was herself. He was kind to her, wasn’t he? He fed her, kept her warm, safe. He let her grow a garden. He let her play the radio.

He was nice. He was nice to her. It was her fault that he had to get so violent with her. Her fault. Bad. Bad girl.

She would give anything, anything, to see him again. Just hear his voice, hear any voice besides her own, just know that there was someone else in the world. He’d made her feel good sometimes. He’d pleased her, kissed her. He’d spoiled her. He was a good man.

She missed him. She missed him so much. So fucking much.

Her body ached. Starvation, cold, lack of sunlight, all of it. She felt like she was dying. She ended up pressed against the door most of the time, trying to stay as far away from the corpse as possible. And she’d know if he’d open the door. Hopefully he’d come back for her. Please. She’d do anything.

She dozed. She must have been asleep, but there was a sound. A sound she didn’t think she’d ever hear again.

The door. Rattling.

She snapped awake in an instant, struggling to sit up. Her limbs wouldn’t respond fast enough. She had to get up. She had to do something. Please. Please, get up, she didn’t want to be alone anymore. Please.

When the door opened, casting the little shed with light, she cried out softly, draping her arm over her eyes. It hurt. It hurt to see.

“Pet.” That low rumble, that lovely, beautiful sound that she hadn’t heard in so long. It was there. So close. So close, right there. “You alive?”

Nope. Not really. But she still whined, trying to roll over, towards him. She lifted a hand, reaching towards him weakly.

He sighed so heavily, shifting closer. His fingers brushed her arm, warm, perfect. Lovely. She shivered, curling towards him, letting out such a happy sound when his arms scooped around her.

He was warm. He was contact. She kept making weak sounds, little murmurs and whines, curling towards his chest when he picked her up. It just felt so nice.

He carried her to the house, up those familiar steps. Oh, she could smell the familiar sort of air from the house. How long had it been? It was too long. She’d missed that house. The comfort. His company.

“Bath. Then food.”

That sounded lovely. She just mumbled, tucking her head up under his jaw, willing to go anywhere so long as it was with him. He balanced her on his leg as he started up the bath, but ultimately eased her down into it, allowing her to relax back in the tub. It took some work to peel her shirt off, but it was a relief to have the sweat-sticky cloth replaced with hot water.

His hand stroked over her brow, swiping her oily hair back, checking her face with a distant, impassive stare. He rumbled something, mumbled out words, his eyes darting aside. Working on something in his head, formulating a plan, a recipe, something, anything. His hand came to rest on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips. “I missed you.”

Oh. Oh. She felt a smile touch her lips, her eyes falling shut. Comfort. “I missed you too,” she rasped, leaning into his touch.

“I bet,” he drawled, removing his touch from her entirely. It felt like punishment. She was such a terrible, naughty girl.

“Mmhm.” She nodded faintly, slumping to the side of the tub, if only to be closer to him. “So much.” Please let him touch her again. Please. She’d be a good girl.

“Water feel nice?” So nice of him to check! Even if his tone never changed, he definitely cared. Her entire body felt chilled to the bone. The warm water was a gift.

“Yes, Black. Very nice.”

“Good. Now.” He turned, shutting off the taps, letting the bathroom fall into silence. “Goin’ to go get you some toast, get your stomach warmed up. You’re fuckin’ thin.”

“No!” She gasped so suddenly and so vehemently that she even surprised herself. Certainly surprised him, as he jerked back, his eyes narrowing her way. Oh gosh, she shouldn’t shout. Bad girls shouted. “Please, please don’t leave me again, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, please-”

“Shush up now.” He gripped her face, clamping over her jaw in one hard grip, cooing when she whimpered and went limp. “Be gone for a minute.”

“Blackie, please, I’m sorry, I’ll be a good girl, I’ll be good-”

“You’d better be.” He rose slowly from the edge of the tub, squeezing until her frantic babbling calmed into senseless whines. “Know how I know that?” When she shook her head quickly, his hands slid down to her neck, pushing at the collar until it clicked. And came away. “Good girls don’t need to be chained. Do they?”

She was a good girl. She was the best girl. Her hand wandered up to her own throat, feeling over the scabs and bruises. It’d been so long.

“Good girls wait patiently for me. Be right back.”

“Okay. I’ll be good.” She would try. She slumped back into the tub, staring longingly at the door when Black stood and left through it.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous the ache in her chest at him being gone. The warm water was nice, yes, but it wasn’t him. She’d been so silly before. He was a good man, a handsome man. She felt so honored to have his attention. He could have very easily left her in that shed forever, but he’d missed her. He’d really missed her.

That thought provided some comfort, at least until she heard the familiar pad of his feet coming back to the bathroom.

She lit up when he came in, smiling brightly at her most favorite person ever.

He thudded back down on the edge of the tub, a paper towel in hand, two pieces of bread in hand. “Sourdough toast. Made it a lot before.”

He remembered! He remembered. She sighed softly, nodding dreamily. Content.

“Eat slow. No puking in my tub.” He shoved the paper towel into her hands, sliding up behind her. “Wash your stinkin’ ass.”

Yes. Perfect. The feeling of food in her mouth was strange, but she made herself nibble, made herself take in little bits. It helped when she felt his hands in her hair, pushing through, getting it wet enough to take shampoo.

He took care of her so well. He was nice, gentle, getting each bit of her clean while she just focused on getting her stomach ready for more food. Well, he could be rougher. He tugged out the tangles of her hair, dragged his cracked nails through the shaggy part of her normally shaved head. It was touch, so it was perfect.

Brushing his touch over her brow, he coaxed her into opening her eyes again. There was a question there, unspoken. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but she just nodded, dreamily content.

“Yes please.”

“Get you some clothes then.”

Maybe she could press her luck. “May…may I pick what I wear?”

“Got something in mind?” Popping the drain on the tub, he lifted a brow her way.

“I’d like that hoodie I first wore, if you still have it.” Because it was big and fluffy and it would smell like him. “Please?”

He shook his head, going to his towel rack, flinging one her way. “Needy.”

Needing of comfort, at the very least. She was just happy that he complied, getting that spare bit of clothing and helping her pull it on. Such a careful touch, such special care, he coaxed her into the kitchen, settling her down in a chair.

“Cooked for you,” he murmured, bringing a few dishes. “Better like it. Better eat it.”

She definitely would, didn’t need to threaten her, and she knew that for a fact when he set down a bowl of soup and a plate of cheese sandwiches with some kind of meat inside.

Meat.

She knew what it was. She knew it even before she saw the searching look he gave her. Maybe a part of her wanted to resist, but why bother? She was hungry. It was cooked, fried up with bread and cheese.

She reached out, picking up a sandwich. And with no hesitation, she bit into it.

Black chuckled softly, coming up beside her so he could rest his hand on the back of the chair, bending down and pressing a kiss on her wet hair.

Anticipation sang through her. Who knew she was so dependent until-

“Good girl,” he hummed, pressing another kiss there. “Eat slow. Eat as much as you want.”

The soup even tasted different. Little bits of meat, the richness of the broth, she knew. It was all a test. It had all been a test. If she hadn’t eaten what she had been given, she would have gone back in that shed.

Not that she would turn it down. She wouldn’t be ungrateful. He cooked for her. That was so nice of him. It was the best thing she had ever eaten because he had made it for her.

What a simple pleasure it was to have food in her belly again. How long had it been? Might as well ask.

“How long was I out there?”

“Mm.” Black dragged a chair over, sitting right up close beside her. “Two weeks.”

“Oh.” Long time. Almost to the point of…uh. “I look terrible, don’t I?”

“Not horrible.” Easing his hand into her hair, he scratched lightly at the nape of her neck. “Lost weight, there. Don’t worry, you’ll gain it back. You’ll gain it back.”

“Most guys prefer skinny girls. Sure you don’t want to take advantage of this? Keep me nice and thin?” Even as she spoke, she spooned yet more soup into her mouth. Wouldn’t do to overeat, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been without food for so long.

His hand swept down, cupping her jaw, smoothing his thumb over her bottom lip. “We’ll get you there.” Cryptic. Didn’t matter. He liked her, right? He came back for her.

She was going to eat herself sick, she knew it. She had to stop. Setting the spoon down, she pushed the soup away, making herself stop. She didn’t know what it was like to eat again after starvation.

Might as well talk to him. See what she could figure out.

“Did…did more detectives show up? I mean, one disappeared. So.” She shrugged, reaching up to drag her hair over her shoulder, combing her fingers through it. “Anything happen?”

“One or two showed up. Nothin’ for them to find, though. No evidence.”

Right. Of course. Oh well. No need to be rescued. She was fine where she was. He missed her. He had her back. Everything was fine. She was a good girl, the best girl.

Collecting up the dishes, they eventually moved their way over to the porch. Walking alone felt so strange. She hobbled and wobbled the whole way, having to brace herself on the walls, and then on Black’s arm. Once out in the fresh air, she started to try and lower herself down to the floor by his chair, but he caught her elbow, tugging her back up.

“No.”

“No? What was I…”

“Here, sweetheart.” He tugged her in, sitting down in his favorite chair just as he coaxed her into his lap again. And to think she hadn’t liked it before. That time, getting to curl up against his chest, pressing her cheek to his shoulder?

Absolute bliss.

She sighed happily, curling against him. He was warm. And solid. And real. Not a dark shed, not a rotting corpse. A real, live man who wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to her forehead.

Just a quiet moment. Goodness. It was so nice. A full belly, warm, clean, and held close. Lovely. She was so content. So happy. Nothing could make it better.

A rattle from the railing of the porch made her eyes flutter open. And she was treated to the sight of a very fat opossum sitting there, staring at her.

“Um.”

“Mm?” He shifted a bit, apparently looking where she looked. “Oh.”

“Oh? Just oh? That’s a big possum, Black.” That animal! The one that kept fucking up the house. Had to be the possum.

“It’s just Suzy.” At her curious sound, he laughed softly, patting the arm of the chair. The possum wiggled its butt, then jumped forward, landing awkwardly where he patted. “She’s a sweetheart.”

Well that was a relief. It was still a bit strange to see the damn thing so close, but it didn’t seem any kind of violent. It sniffed at her knee for much longer than was probably necessary, but it didn’t freak out. It just put a little hand on her leg, clambering onto her lap with all the grace of a drunken paraplegic.

But it was in her lap. And big. And fluffy. With big brown eyes and a sniffing little whisker nose.

“She’s so cute,” Sep breathed, lifting a hand awkwardly. “Can I pet her?”

“Mm.”

Okay, cool. She smiled a bit, resting her hand on the back of the little beastie. And if anything, it fluffed up even more, delighted at the attention she offered.

Sep sighed, melting against Blackie’s chest, just stroking the fat possum in her lap. There was peace. Happiness. She wasn’t in that shed, she wasn’t tied up. She was in his lap, she was safe, warm, well fed.

“Missed you,” he breathed, brushing his hand over her brow, pushing into her hair. “Hard to find good pets that cook and clean.”

“I’m happy to be here with you.” Shifting over, she tucked her face against his neck, giggling when his fingers trailed so lightly over the side of her throat. Ticklish. “I’ll be a really good girl now, so you don’t have to lock me up again. I’ll be your best pet. You won’t have to get another ever again! Just me.” No no, that’d be a bad thing, setting boundaries like that. “But if you do, that’s okay too. Because you can have as many pets as you want.”

“We’ll see.” Such a grumble. So grumpy. So cute!

“Thank you for your confidence in me.” She lifted her head, pressing needy little kisses against his jaw. And the more she kissed him, the more warmth she felt. And he seemed to like it too, as he manhandled Suzy off of their lap, turning to meet her kisses.

She’d never really been one for messy kisses involving tongue, and it seemed he wasn’t either. But it was fine then. She was happy to have them then, curled in his lap, kissing and curling towards each other like nothing else mattered. It was definitely messier than anything they’d shared before.

He really had missed her. He really wanted her there. The whole thought of it made her wriggle happily, gripping his shirt tight. She had to say it. She felt it deep down inside of her. It had to come out.

“I love you,” she whispered, tracing shapes on his chest. “Whatever you want from me, I’ll give it. I’m yours. I love you.”

“Mine,” he sighed, accepting her words easily. And it was okay that he didn’t say it back. He didn’t have to love her. It was just good that he let her be close to him. “My September. My pet.”

“Yours, Blackie. All yours.”

He was pleased with that, as he just held her close, rising up from the chair. He carried her inside easily, carrying her past the kitchen, down the hall and into their bedroom.

Oh. Yeah. Well, that made sense, but she was still so exhausted. But she was his. If he wanted her, then she would take it.

He didn’t separate much. Once he eased her down, he crawled on top of her, nuzzling in against her neck. So needy, so affectionate, pawing at her too awkwardly. He really didn’t know how to treat a partner gently, but that was fine. He could do whatever he wanted with her.

“What do you need me to do, Blackie?” Flopping her arms up over her head, she felt a surprising wave of exhaustion flood her. She really wasn’t in any condition to be fucking anyone, but that was happening. “Should I…”

He just growled. Cryptic, but it didn’t stop him. He just pushed at her hoodie, exposing her lower half as he slid down.

Was he…

Sep sighed happily when he nuzzled at the wiry hair of her mound. He really was. He was clumsy at best, but all that mattered was that he had the initiative. His tongue stroked through hair, lapping the strands out of the way, barely pushing past the lips of her pussy. And what he tasted there seemed to satisfy him greatly, judging by the growl he let out.

He flopped down lower on the bed, shoving her legs apart roughly so he could devour her. She’d had some messy oral before, but he beat them all by far. There was no art to it, no careful, delicate teasing. He lapped at her like an animal, slurping and tugging at her labia with no gentility. And that was actually really nice. It probably helped that it had been a long time since she’d gotten oral. Well, he must have known something because he certainly knew to suck on the clit, because damn.

Even better was watching him. His eyes were closed so tight, brow furrowed as he growled and devoured her like nothing else mattered. She had never once imaged that he would do that for her. There was some hesitation, but she made herself reach down, easing her hand into his hair, pushing his hat off.

He snarled at the touch, his eyes snapping open, but he didn’t pause. He just fixed her in his stare, jamming his tongue up inside her in such a lewd slurp that she could help but squeal in delight.

“You’re so good to me, Blackie!” She gasped, digging her heels into the bed. She could very happily take as much as he wanted to give, but he decided that was enough. She did her best not to whine when he drew back, licking his lips like a well fed dog. “What do you need now, Blackie? What do you want from me?”

A snarl, pure animal but full of intent.

That was stupidly hot to her. Her broken brain delighted in the sound, making her giggle eagerly, remaining open to him, watching him pull his clothes off. He looked so lovely. He was so strong, so wonderful. He really could take whatever he wanted, couldn’t he? No one would ever be able to stop him.

And he was giving her attention! She was a lucky girl. He really could have left her in that shed for the rest of her life. But he got her, and fed her and held her close. And then he even touched her! He allowed her to feel his body, his need. He was so generous, so good to her.

Sep let out a delighted croon when he slipped his cock into her, filling her so perfectly. Her bones ached deep inside, but that was fine. She was so happy to be a part of him, a part of his life. And it was even better hearing him moan softly, hunching over her body.

He was amazing. She was so happy there.

Blackie groaned his delight, fucking into her hard. It only made her ache more, but she liked that. She really liked that. She liked knowing that he needed her. And despite the ache in her pelvis, she was happy to feel the slick slide of him inside of her.

“So warm,” he growled, burying his face in the side of her throat, huffing and puffing harshly against her skin. “So wet.”

“Because I love you, Blackie,” she whispered back, awkwardly pressing a hand into his hair again. “I’ll always be warm and wet for you.”

He laughed breathlessly, his hand clamping way too hard on her hip, dragging her to meet him. But that laugh broke, turning into more of his rough sounds that matched how he fucked her.

Anything for him.

Her sounds weren’t exactly the most pleased sounds. She kind of sounded like she was in pain, but he seemed to like that. It didn’t make him slow, it didn’t make him falter or ask her anything. She was a body to please him, and she was happy to be that for him. So happy. And it did feel good, underneath the ache and force.

But when he came, pushing into her so deep, she felt her own pleasure rise. Satisfaction in being able to satisfy him, to make him shudder and sigh in pleasure…that was all that mattered. It made all the discomfort worth it. She just sighed and smiled, combing her fingers through his sweaty curls, eager to take his weight on top of her.

She was a good girl. She was his good girl.

Nothing else mattered. She was where she belonged.


	7. Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grocery shopping is interrupted, and someone close to Black and Sep has some plans regarding them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I had to take a break and work on some things where Black is nice to Sep. Because while its wildly not likely, I want toll meat to be nice to smol soft. And not smack her around. Yeah.

“Suzy, quit bein’ a shit.”

“I got her.” Sep hurried forward, hooking her hands around the furry armpits of the little vermin. The little creature hissed irritably, little claws hanging on to the worn wood of the crate, but strength of human touch won out. The possum came loose, wriggling until she was close enough to Sep’s chest to turn around and cling to her instead. “There we go. Quit bothering daddy, mm?”

The possum snuffled irritably, searching around for something else delicious. There was none to be had, of course. None that she was allowed to eat.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Black grunted, dragging the crates forward across the dented bed of the truck. When they came closer, the thick scent of fish overwhelmed the air, but Black was undeterred, of course. He collected up the crates to sell at Gill’s, but he still jerked his chin towards the market. Grocery shopping, of course.

“Of course, Blackie.” She turned her face up, expectant, and she wasn’t let down. He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her lips, and all was right in the world. “Thank you.”

He just grunted again, hauling the crates away without pause. So eloquent.

A fond smile touched her lips, her hand patting idly at the rump of the furry little monster in her arms. Right. Couldn’t spend too much time just hanging around. She had something to do.

“Come on baby, up you go,” she sighed, shoving the possum up until she clung to her shoulder. “There we go. Now don’t be a brat.” Which was asking a lot of Suzy, but she had to hope. She knew she got excited at the grocery store.

Sep found a hum in her throat when she wandered into the market, picking up a basket as she went along. Suzy tried to tumble down into it, only to scream and cry when she was held back. Little brat. At least she didn’t bite when she was mad about it. She just hissed and bitched directly into Sep’s ear, like one more squeak would bring her closer to the basket.

“You’re definitely daddy’s girl, aren’t you?” Sep sighed, stopping in front of the flour display, selecting up a midsized bag, checking the gluten content on the side. Was bread flour really necessary to make bread? Couldn’t she just figure it out with regular flour? “Spoiled. Bitchy. Like me.”

Black was good to his girls. He kept them both well fed, kept them warm and safe. All they did was bitch and ask for more, though. And he humored them. Such a good man.

There was a bit of a hop to her step when she went down the aisle. She never would have found Blackie if she hadn’t gotten lost out there. Funny how fate led her to that point. So lucky. Love was never something she had ever really experienced until he found her. And she did love him. So very much.

Hm. She should make something really good for him. She should ask him if he had any extra crawfish. They could do a good steamer pot. That’d be nice. It had been pleasantly warm out, so they could sit on the porch and just eat. He’d like that, wouldn’t he?

Potatoes. They were running out of potatoes. Hm. She continued on down the aisle, clucking irritably at the pissy possum. She was especially bitchy that day. Might as well make it worse later by giving her a bath. She could use a bath. Smelly little brat.

Huge brat, actually, considering she tried to throw herself dramatically off of Sep’s shoulder the moment they passed another shelf.

“Suzy! Come on!” Sep fumbled with her basket, scooping her arm at the little shit, trying to drag her back, no matter how she scrambled forward. “Don’t be such a brat! You can’t have any treats. Oh my god, Suzy!”

She could really use both hands to deal with her. If she could just set down her basket, then she wouldn’t have an issue with the little monster.

Her prayers were answered, she supposed, as she felt fingers hook in the handle next to her hand, pulling the basket away. She sighed in relief, bringing her free hand to bear, scooping the possum to her chest.

“Thanks Blackie,” she tsked, turning to look at-

Not Blackie.

She faltered a step back, eyes widening a fraction.

Ryan. Fuck.

“Hello there, birdie,” Ryan cooed, his head tipping to the side in probably what he intended to be in a welcoming, maybe even a flirty way. It didn’t feel like it. “What are you doin’ here all alone?”

“I’m not alone. I have Suzy.” Hugging the possum to her chest, the little creature finally fell silent, blinking her big eyes at Ryan. “And Black’s just outside.”

“Black’s here, hm? Good, good. I wanted to talk to him.” His grin made her skin crawl. Of course it did. “I was hoping we could have another beer and a chat.”

“Oh yeah? About what?” Long ago, he had learned to be confident in the face of fear. Never let a predator see you afraid. She lifted her chin, standing as tall as her meager height would allow her.

Not the best idea, she supposed, as his eyes dropped from her face to her throat. And he only grinned wider.

Confusion flooded her for just a moment, but that all cleared. Black had been generous with her, taking her metal collar away, but he wasn’t totally trusting. And when at home, he still put a leather one on her, padlocking her chain on her whenever he felt that she got too energetic. Which meant her bruises had hardly faded. Her throat was still a ring of blue and purple, yellow and green. Maybe someone else would pass it off as an accident or the mark of a playful couple, the intensity of Ryan’s smile and the light in his glassy eyes told her otherwise. Ryan, however, was a generous man, and would not leave her to wonder.

“About you. About California.” Ryan shifted her basket over to his other hand, inspecting his nails, an exaggerated motion that had the hair prickling at the back of her neck. “About missing person reports and kidnappings.”

She wasn’t so broken as to not feel a tiny, terrible thread of hope. She had been shattered, pieced back together into a horrible creature that had grown to adore her abuser, but between those cracks of her broken mind, she still had hope of escape. Of freedom. Of healing. With his knowledge, there was a single, solitary moment of hope that he could save her. Take her away from Black.

Ryan was worse. If he wanted to help her, he wouldn’t be smiling. He wouldn’t be eyeing her like she was his next paycheck. If he knew what she had been through, if he had a single empathetic bone in his body, he’d be horrified. But he wasn’t. He was laughing.

She was backing away before she even thought to do so, but Ryan matched her pace. Walking towards her, looming over her, his grin splitting his face, his eyes so wide they seemed fit to pop out of his head.

She saw it then. She saw a man, intimidated into place beneath Black, made to serve. Black had such a presence in that town. Everyone knew him, everyone respected him. Ryan wanted that. Wanted to be strong, respected, wanted to have his own place. With his knowledge about her, where she had come from, Ryan could blackmail the king of the town. He could gain a place. Ryan certainly couldn’t blackmail Black if she wasn’t around. He was going to leave her right where she was. And with that thought, that gleaming light from between the cracks of her mind fizzled out, and she could only sneer.

Better to stay with the demon she knew, rather than the demon she didn’t.

She hissed something, animalistic and simple, between her teeth, turning and bolting from the grocery store without another thought. He could keep the fucking basket. Whatever groceries they needed could wait.

Should she hide in the truck? No, Black wouldn’t be able to find her and he’d get so angry. She had to find Black.

Keeping Suzy tight against her chest, she trotted through the town’s streets, searching around wildly for any sign of Black. She knew where they had parked, but Black had been delivering his catch. Where was Gill’s?

God, how ridiculous was all of that? She had a chance to fucking run, and she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Black didn’t know where she was. She could go. She could run.

But she just kept limping through the streets, holding that fucking possum too tight, feeling way too relieved when she saw the squat building by the river, an peeling sign of Gill’s place.

Yes! She hurried as fast as she could, looping around the building to the loading docks, where old fishermen gutted their catch, talking amicably with each other about something or other. They were all perfectly nice, she was sure, and would no doubt keep her safe if Ryan came tearing around the corner, but they weren’t who she wanted. It wasn’t until she saw that too tall creepy motherfucker did she actually feel fucking safe.

“Black,” she gasped, hurrying towards him. He was leaned against someone else’s truck, talking to whoever stood in the bed. A friend of his, or something, but she didn’t care. She slowed once she neared him, uncertain. She shouldn’t interrupt.

She didn’t need to, though. Like a magnet, Black’s eye was drawn to her. Irritation flicked over his features for just a moment, but that faded. She must have looked a little concerning, especially since he moved towards her, catching her elbow and drawing her in close, his head dipping down close to her.

“Ryan,” she gasped, steadying Suzy with one hand so that she could touch Black’s chest. “He knows. He…he knows how I came to be here. Really.”

Black’s grip tightened to the point of absolute agony. Her elbow creaked, bone shifting hard.

“I didn’t tell him,” she gasped, blinking away tears. “I didn’t tell him anything, Black. He must have looked into it. I think he wants to blackmail you.”

His eyes narrowed, grip remaining tight for just a moment more. Just a moment more of a threat, then separation, blood flowing back to where he had held her. There was definitely going to be a bruise there. Still, he drew her in to his chest, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, but he no doubt looked elsewhere. Ever watchful. Not protective. Maybe a little. She was his, after all.

“Get any groceries?”

“No, Black. I ran as soon as I could.”

“Alright.” Patting her lightly, he coaxed her into walking back towards the truck. Whatever conversation he had with that other fishermen was done, didn’t need any further address. He just wanted to leave, and leave quickly.

There was a history there, between Black and Ryan. She wanted to ask, but she already knew that he wouldn’t tell her. She didn’t need to know. He didn’t let her do anything he didn’t deem absolutely necessary. He generally knew what he was doing.

“What’d he say?” Black mumbled once they seemed to be far enough away, his eyes fixed forward.

“Not much. He mentioned me, California, and kidnapping. And his smile. He was so creepy, Blackie.”

“Mm.”

Eloquent. She was terrified, but he didn’t seem to give a shit. He probably already knew what he needed to do. Fuck.

He made no comment once they made it to the truck, shoving her into it, slamming the door so shortly after her that he almost caught her ankle in the damn thing. That was communication enough, making her fold up tightly in her seat, letting Suzy screech and scramble out of her arms, nestling down somewhere under the seat. Black still had no commentary when he climbed into the driver’s seat. Just steely silence, focused eyes and a tight jaw.

He was mad. Probably at Ryan, but Sep knew that she was just as likely to get his anger as the man who had actually done him wrong. Black was a passionate man. He was wild and untamed, intense in his feelings. Even if she was a part of his life, cooked for him, he was just as likely to hurt her as he was to hurt Ryan. She knew that. She would never forget that. In the darkness of that shed, by the rot of that corpse, she would never, ever forget that.

She wanted to ask so many questions. What was he going to do? Would he get rid of her so that there was no evidence? Would he get rid of Ryan? She knew her death would come at the hands of Black. There was no denying that. But how long until it happened? How much longer did she have to live? Would bringing it up make him want to kill her even more?

It was slow, a gradual sort of descent. The trunk was a rattly thing on its own, but the further they drove out of town, the more the truck bounced and rattled, leaning to the side ever so slightly. It took way too long for it to connect in her mind,, but it did when Black pulled the truck off of the road.

Flat tire. And she sure as fuck knew it wasn’t just a coincidence.

Black cursed, the words strange and twisted. Not English, then, but the intent was clear, especially when his fist thudded down on his steering wheel. Whatever anger he felt before seemed to grow, bubbling forth more and more. It was funny how much the attitude of a person could fill a space, so long as they felt it strongly enough. Black’s irritation flooded the cab of the truck, thick, cloying. She tried to cower away from it, but it was always there. There was no getting away from it.

He stayed there for a moment, thoughts working over something or other. Whatever he had been debating, he decided on kicking his door open, sliding out. Before he stepped away, he fixed those fiery eyes on her, his lips curling into a sneer.

“Come help me.”

Yup, absolutely. She scrambled for her own door, hurrying out to meet him at the back of the truck. She’d changed tires before, but never any as big as what a truck needed. It wouldn’t be any different, she knew, but she couldn’t help the creeping sensation of horror building in her.

The feeling of being chased. It wasn’t one that she cared for.

Looping around to the back, she bounced on her toes, waiting patiently at the hatch as Black yanked it open, hopping up into the bed of the truck. He grumbled something under his breath, seemingly nonplussed at the fact that someone definitely wanted them to get a flat tire. Whatever it was, he just tossed some tarps aside, revealing a spare tire and a jack.

Why he needed her for help, she had no idea. He just thrust the jack at her, dragging the tire out with a few pulls. It was a lot like being a child helping their father, following along awkwardly, wondering if she should ask questions and do something.

She was just a placeholder, as always. She held thing for him, she cooked for him, she was a warm body for him to hold down and take his frustrations out on. And deep inside, her heart beat a little faster when he looked at her. Maybe some of it was fear. Hard to tell.

Black was good at changing a tire. He seemed good at everything having to do with cars, no motion unnecessary. He knew the perfect amount of pumps to get the car jacked up just enough for him to get the tire off. He knew exactly how to undo the nuts on his tire, how to-

Alright, she was a little obsessed with him. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him, how he moved. If he’d let her, she’d happily worship him for a day with as much touch as he would allow. His body was a marvel, and she knew that part of it was not because of her broken mind. Most of it. Hell, he was her type, anyways.

New tire on, he slapped the release on the jack, letting his truck sink back down to the ground. Easy, quick, and undisturbed.

She had a crazy imagination. Maybe it was just an accident.

Black huffed softly, standing but remaining hunched, rolling his old tire around, pushing at the rubber, checking for whatever made it go flat. Simple, mechanical analyzation of a mechanic, she figured. She didn’t know half of what he did.

But when his hands went still, his breath huffing out, she felt a bit of coldness flood her, especially when she looked to his hands.

With the way he pushed at the tire, the slash could be seen, clear as day. Clean, single line, one stab.

Someone cut his tire very intentionally, forcing it to go flat with the shifted pressure of a rolling tire. They wanted him to go flat outside of town. She fucking knew it.

As if on cue, there was the rumble of a truck in the distance, coming closer.

Black snapped upright, fixing her in his glare. “In the truck. Now. Under the tarp.”

Squeaking, she scrambled for the back, hauling herself into the bed of the truck. It was cold and oddly stained, but she didn’t think about that. She just curled up and hauled the tarp over her, doing her best to control her breathing. It was only when a nerve in her hand twitched that she noticed that she was still clinging to the cross lug wrench he had shoved at her.

Not a moment too soon, it seemed, as the sound of spitting gravel overpowered the rumble of a truck, and then silence. A squeak, a slam of a door. Boots on gravel.

“Well howdy there, ol’ Blackie.”

“Gus.” Black seemed to go about his business, the thud of the jack being dropped into the truck somewhere near her head almost making her twitch away. “You got somethin’ to do with this?”

“Somethin’ to do with what? I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.” The voice came closer, the huff of labored breath becoming shockingly loud. “You got a flat tire or somethin’?”

Black hummed, the truck rocking suddenly. Leaning on it? She didn’t know.

She didn’t like not knowing. Why did she have to hide? What was going on?

“You talk to Ryan recently? He mentioned you the other day.”

“Did he now?” Black’s voice dipped even more into a drawl. There was something off about it. “Anything special?”

“Said you missed me.” That gruff voice laughed, the truck shifting again. “Have you?”

“Mm.” A soft sound. Warmer than usual. Was it-

Good gods above, did she hear kissing? Something strange shot through her at the thought. There was no way. She had to be imagining things. And she would prove it to herself.

Moving so slowly, so carefully, she nudged the tarp up just enough for her to peek out under the edge of it. Just a peek, and she’d be satisfied. She had an active imagination. That was why she was an author, after all.

Or maybe she had better hearing than she thought and a very, very accurate imagination. Nothing could prepare her for actually seeing Black McGrath, leaning against the hatch of his truck, a rather portly looking man leaning into him and kissing him for all it was worth.

It wasn’t exactly gentle. They seemed angrier at each other than anything else. But they absolutely were kissing and she had no idea what she felt about it.

Black grunted suddenly, shoving Gus back so he could turn his head, spitting black liquid into the dirt. Some dribbled down his lip, making him hiss and spit again.

“What, Blackie? You used to like the taste.”

“Fuck, Gus,” Black hissed, dragging his arm over his mouth. “Can’t even- I don’t want your fuckin’ chaw. That was years ago.”

“Yeah, when you were a desperate little teenager.” Gus laughed at that, spitting into the dirt, getting rid of his chewing tobacco. “Been a long time since I’ve seen you around the Park, Black. You find someone else to entertain you?”

Black’s warm tone faded. Quite suddenly, actually. “The fuck are you on about?”

“Well, Ryan said somethin’ about you havin’ a girlfriend. Really, Blackie, you wound me. You gonna introduce us?”

Oh no. Horror twisted through Sep’s gut. It was a setup to get to her. Oh fuck. Did Gus know she was there? Ryan had to tell him something. Would Black give her up? He seemed to like Gus an awful lot, after all.

“She’s back home and none of your business.”

“Damn, Blackie, you wound me.” Despite his words, Gus pressed back in, surprisingly tall too, or rather, no, he wasn’t. Black was slumped down a lot against the hatch, letting himself be more eye level with the greasy looking man. Hell, he even spread his legs enough for Gus to fit his narrow hips in between his thighs, his round gut resting on Black’s hips. “Here I thought we had somethin’ special/”

“The fuck do you want with my girl, Gus?”

His girl. Stupid, but it made her heart flutter. So stupid.

“I dunno. I just wanna see what kind of type you’ve got now. Ryan mentioned she was a chubby lil’ thing. Short. Looks an awful lot like a missing person-”

“Gus,” Black hissed, clamping a hand on the back of the other man’s neck. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” Gus just grinned, his teeth yellow and grey, filthy. Disgusting.

Sep felt some type of way when Black kissed him again. It was hungry, desperate, something that Sep had never personally experienced. It was an afterthought to pull off his hat, tossing it behind him into his truck. It was crazy. They were on the side of the road. Anyone could see them.

They didn’t seem to care. Black merely grunted when Gus jerked back, allowing himself to be shoved around. Allowing himself to be bent over the hatch of the truck, bracing his arms on the bed.

Oh. Oh goodness. Sep flushed hard, specially at the clink of Black’s belt, at the hungry, desperate drags at his pants and boxers. They were going to-

“Mm. You’ve always had the thickest ass, Blackie.” Gus laughed, a raucous, broken sound, punctuated by a sharp slap as he brought his palm down on one pert cheek. “Hear your girl’s got a fantastic ass, too. Ever make use of that?”

“Leave it alone, Gus.” Black huffed softly, brow furrowed and focused. He shoved his two intact fingers into his mouth, slurping on them obscenely. Preparation, no doubt, as he reached back with that same hand and promptly fitted them up into himself with a drawn out groan.

She had a perfect view. It was a little strange to feel arousal building in her, but there it was. She could watch as Gus undid his own belt, fishing out a fat prick, stroking it with the grey spittle he had prepped his hand with. Nothing but spit and roughness between two men, and she could watch.

Black’s eyes lifted when he brought his arm back around, bracing himself on the truck. She could have been imagining it, but it felt like their eyes met, even with her limited view from under that tarp. He blinked slowly, exhaled deeply, the breath choking off in his chest when Gus gripped his hips hard.

There was a sharp roll, the truck shifted, and Black moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. A gorgeous sight, and even better sound. She liked his sounds, so desperate and unrestrained. Too often, men tried to mute their pleasure under the keening cries of a woman. She loved the sounds of a man, loved how Black hissed out a curse, pressing his forehead against the cool metal for just a moment. Prepping himself, getting used to the feeling and the pleasure. Probably too dry, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Hell, watching the whole thing really made her wish she knew how to peg. What a thought, what a feeling! Putting on a strap and going to town on Black, making him moan the way he was moaning in that moment? That would be power. That would be so satisfying. Maybe she could convince him to do it. That would be the coolest thing ever.

That would have to happen later. Because she had to lay there, perfectly still under a tarp in the bed of a truck, watching Black get fucked so hard while bent over the bed of his truck. And he really, really seemed to like it, gasping and moaning, brow furrowed hard. He looked so good, so broken. Weak. She had no idea Black could ever be weak, but there he was, submitting himself to a fat trucker, letting himself get fucked at the back of his truck. Gorgeous.

“Still got the best ass in the South, Blackie,” Gus groaned, a heavy hand coming down on Black’s shoulders, keeping him pinned. “You open up so easy. Bit of a whore, hm?”

Black just grunted, his arm jerking forward, closer to her. For a moment, she thought that he might be reaching for her. He had to be out of his mind there, taking a good fucking there.

“This girl of yours must be real special, keepin’ her around for so long. You’ve never been much for comp’ny.”

“Gus. Don’t.” Black’s breath had gotten harsher, especially when Gus’s hand disappeared underneath him.

“Don’t what? Ryan was real interested in her. Said she was worth some money, there. Don’t you like some money?”

“Dammit, Gus,” Black growled, more to himself than anything else. His arm slid forward even more, his hand dipping under the tarp, towards her.

She didn’t know what it meant, but she couldn’t resist sliding her hand forward, slipping her fingers over his. He caught her hand, squeezing it softly. Gently. It was a definitely shocking bit of tenderness.

So she had to be misreading something. He wanted something else. He would not be tender with her. She was never so deserving of his gentle touch.

So she drew her hand back, glancing down at the lug wrench in her arms. Perhaps…

“C’mon Blackie, that pussy can’t be much better than the money we’d get for her return. Give her up. You’ve never been much for one cunt anyhow.” Gus’s words were broken and twisted by moans and gasps, his thrusts becoming sporadic and rough.

Black cursed softly, face so flushed until his lips parted and he moaned, raucous and loud and desperate. His hand twitched open wider, beckoning to her.

Sep placed the neck of one shaft of the lug wrench in Black’s hand just as Gus came, his head tossed back in his own bliss.

Gus didn’t even have a moment to open his eyes again before Black had buried a shaft of the lug wrench unto the side of his skull. It crunched through with remarkable ease, sinking into soft brain tissue. She’d never seen such a head wound, didn’t know that it would make him twitch and gurgle as brain activity was so interrupted by gleaming steel buried in soft flesh.

Black lurched up, grabbing the wrench with two hands, twisting hard, twisting Gus’s head and neck until there was a sickening crack, and then nothing. Stillness, death, so quick and so easy.

Another death, caused by her. She was beginning to make a habit of it, and she didn’t really much care for it. She killed them. Just by being there.

“Fuck,” Black grumbled, dropping Gus’s body to the ground. “I liked him.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Black.” She had to apologize, crawling out from underneath the tarp. “I don’t mean to be so much trouble. I don’t-”

“Shut the fuck up.” He bounced in place, hitching his pants up, staring down at the corpse of the truck driver. “You remember the way home?”

“Yes. Yes Black, yes sir.” Scrambling out of the truck, she flinched as Black picked up the corpse, tossing it in where she had been hiding. “Ah. So…”

“Drive my truck home. I’ll follow.” Black tossed his flat tire in after the body, dragging the tarp over the whole mess. “You are more trouble than you’re worth.”

Dammit. Her heart sank at that. He was right. Dammit. He had to kill a friend of his. She didn’t even know she was crying until she blinked through the tears, nodding quickly. “Yes, Black.”

If he noticed, he didn’t comment on it. He just tromped on back to Gus’s truck, hauling himself into it.

She was a problem, wasn’t she? She was such a problem. Fuck.

It became increasingly more difficult to focus through her tears when she got back into the truck. She loved him too much, and she was such a problem. He needed to just leave her at home all the time. It’d be easier for him then. She could just cook for him, and clean, and be ready for him whenever he needed a bit of pleasure. Yeah. She’d have ot insist on that once they got home. If he wasn’t too angry. Please don’t let him be too angry.

It really had been a long time since she had driven anywhere, especially not a truck like Black’s. It was a good thing she knew stick shift though. She remembered that much. Her past life was becoming increasingly more difficult to remember. Did she not want to remember? Was her body so broken that it wanted to replace everything inside her with what she currently lived? Probably.

It explained how it was so hard to stop crying on the drive back. She had to keep sweeping away the tears that collected at the edges of her eyes, choke back the whimpers and sobs that built in her throat. She just wanted to be good and useful to Blackie. She loved him and wanted him to be happy and cared for. Was that so much to ask?

Probably. But she got the truck home, pulling it up in his usual parking spot and shutting it off. As if the possum could detect them getting home, Suzy emerged from under the seat, crawling up into Sep’s lap.

“Oh, hey baby girl,” Sep sniffled, bundling the creature up to her chest, stroking her. “I’m all kinds of fucked up, aren’t I?”

The creature just snuffled at her, seeking out some kind of food.

Gus’s truck pulled in shortly after, driven around the back of the barn where Black would no doubt strip it down for parts, eliminating evidence quickly and efficiently. He was good at what he did, but he had to use his skills a hell of a lot more than he should have needed to., all because of her.

She was so much trouble. Choking back her tears, she slid out of the truck, stroking Suzy over and over, trying to comfort herself, preparing herself.

Black rounded the barn, a truly foul expression on his face. And he came right at her, thunderous and furious and she was fully prepared to die for him, right there.

Instead, he stopped right in front of her, staring down at her with all the disgust that he could hold in his body. He hated her. She’d fucked up so much, he hated her, oh gods-

His hand came around the back of her neck, hauling her in so he could press a hard kiss to her forehead.

“Mine,” he grumbled against her skin, “mine.”

Oh. “Yes, Black,” she whimpered, melting into it. “All yours.”

He sighed softly, rubbing the back of her head. A simple touch, drawn away quickly. “I’ll bring you some meat in a bit. Want me a fuckin’ steak.”

“Yes, Black. Of course.” She glanced at the tarp, at the body underneath. “Marrow on the side?”

“Mm, yeah.” He cupped her cheek for just a second, rough and questionable, but she savored it all the same.

It was a shame that they didn’t get any groceries, but she had a feeling they wouldn’t be able to get any while Ryan was out on the prowl. Black would deal with it. Somehow, some way, he would deal with it, like he always did.


	8. Freedom?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything gets twisted up. Sep doesn't know what to think, what to do, and Black certainly doesn't help her figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the wait. I got caught up on writing a bunch of other shit hahaaaa  
> Anyways, who here thinks this is going to be a happy ending? Because I think there's one chapter left. Happy ending? Bad ending? Who knows? One more chapter to go~

None of it made sense.

Why keep her around? Why risk something he had going for so many years?

She wasn’t his first victim, and he definitely didn’t want her to be his last. By keeping her around, but showing her in public, he risked it all. It seemed so stupid.

Not that she would call him stupid. He didn’t much care for insults.

Tugging the last stitch tight, Sep glanced over at Black. It was a nice evening on the porch, the radio playing and his knife skating over and over on that block of wood in his hands. He whittled, she mended a pair of socks that honestly should just be chucked in the garbage, and it was quiet. Nice.

Well, not really. She kept wondering about him and his ideas when it came to her. He was ruining his life by keeping her around.

Ryan was doing his best to fuck everything up for Black. He knew about Sep, knew that she wasn’t there on her own free will or something. Whatever it was, she didn’t care for it. She’d found her place in Black’s life, and Ryan’s meddling was going to fuck it all up.

Probably moving her time line up faster. Black would end her soon enough.

Maybe Black would be more willing to talk that night. She had made him a good dinner, after all. That usually made him more amicable. Especially since he was on his third beer.

She watched him lift the bottle, taking a long draw. He sighed happily, clicking the bottle back down to bring his knife back to bear. He looked happy, at least. She could do it. She could try.

“Black?”

“Mmhm.”

“Why…keep me around? I like being here with you, but surely you’ve gotten a bit bored of me, right?” Slipping the apple out of the sock, she tugged lightly at the yarn stitching she had done. Heel fixed. “I know you like a good struggle when you fuck. I don’t really fight you anymore, do I?”

“Nope. You don’t.” Shifting the wood in his hand, Black eyed it critically. “Take my dick well, though.”

“Oh? That what’s keeping me here?”

“Mm.” He dug the point of his knife in on some detail, carving something out. “Bit of a gaping pussy there.”

“Huh. Yeah, well, I’ve always been a size queen. Bet its hard to find something alive that can fit your dick.” Gods, she was so fucked up. She actually laughed when she said that.

“Most asses fit. You’re lucky your cunt’s so sloppy.”

Rude, but that was just how he was. She shrugged it off, sorting through the basket of laundry to see if anything else needed mending. He said what he thought, feelings be damned. She had learned long ago not to fuss too much about what he said to her. He didn’t always mean harm. He just had opinions and thoughts that he let out into the open whenever he felt like it.

“Okay, so you like me for my giant vagina. Is that enough to keep me around in the face of whatever fuckery Ryan is doing?” Straight for the kill. Get to the point.

And just as she expected, his knife stilled on that wood in his hand. Irritation, consideration, she didn’t know. He stared down at it, letting the drone of country music fill the quiet evening air.

“You’re mine,” he growled, lip curling back from jagged teeth. “You die when I say you die. Not too soon. Slow. With my hands around your neck.” His eyes turned to hers so slowly, like a fucking horror movie. “Let you struggle. Drag it out nice and slow with my cock buried in you, feel you clamp down and fight.”

Oh.

Not sure what she expected. She just held a shirt to her chest, shaking, maintaining eye contact.

“Not before I’m ready. I’m. Not. Done. With. You.”

“Right. Of course, Black. Whenever you’re ready.” Only then did she drop her gaze, hopefully in a respectful way. “But, um, if Ryan keeps this up, you’ll…have to do something about me. Before you’re ready.”

“Ryan’ll be dealt with.” Back to whittling, puffing away some shreds of wood.

“Of course. Silly me.” That shirt was beyond mending, but Black was definitely going to keep wearing it. He gave no shits about looking decent. “Thanks for keeping me around for a little while longer, Black.”

Her death would come soon enough. She was helpless to it, and that was fine. It wasn’t like she had ever had any real control over her life anyways. It was all what other people decided for her. Hell, half of her novels had become what others had wanted her to write anyways.

Sometimes, she liked to pretend she still had some control over her life. Black let her think that sometimes.

Tossing the shirt aside, she edged close to him. “Black?”

He grunted, turning his creation this way and that.

“Can I hug you?”

He hummed. An affirmative hum.

Yes!

He was generous with her, shuffling his legs apart so she could slide between them. Nuzzling in against his belly, she hooked her arms around him, sighing happily. He was warm, a fucking furnace to cuddle, and he seemed to like it anyways.

Settling his arms on her, he continued to whittle away. It was his halfway return of her hug, which was more than she would ask for. He did really appreciate cuddles, anyhow.

Just holding on to him helped her feel a little better. There was no arguing the flutter in her heart when she was near him. Love when she knew she was incapable of love. The wonders of captivity.

“Sorry about Gus, by the way. You seemed to like him.”

“Ryan’s fault. Dragged him into it.”

“At least you got one last fucking in with him, right?”

“Mm.”

“Sounds like you knew him for a long time.”

“Just about twenty years.”

Wow, he was so talkative. That was cool. “He talked about the Park?”

“Parking lot.” He paused in his whittling for a gulp of beer. “Bit of a lot lizard in my youth.”

Lot lizard? As much as she wanted to ask about it, she just filed that away into something she had no fucking clue about. She didn’t have to know anything about him. She just needed to keep him happy.

It was a shame that that hug made her knee hurt. She leaned up a bit, peeking up at him.

“What.” He brushed his thumb over the now almost completely finished boat he had been carving.

“Can I kiss you a little? I want to make you feel good, Blackie.”

“M’busy.”

“I won’t get in the way, I promise. You haven’t had me suck you off in a long time. Want me to worship your cock nice and slow?” Edging down a bit, she nuzzled in against the waistband of his jeans. “You’re so good to me. I just want to appreciate you.”

He grunted, rolling his hips up against her face.

As much of approval as she was going to get. Happily tugging at his belt, she got his dick out to pepper him with her kisses.

That was comforting. Giving such a simple task, something she could focus on, she felt at peace. Licking and slurping at his dick, she knew exactly what she was supposed to do. And he was vocal about what he liked, hips jerking towards her whenever she did something he particularly liked.

That was the best sign anyways. He was always so subtle, so quiet. She loved that about him. It made her all the more aware of what she was doing. He huffed softly when she suckled on the head of his cock, moaning when she pushed her tongue against the slit. She’d never been good at blowjobs, but he made her feel like she was.

She had no idea of how much time passed, but he finished his beer and his whittling. And he was done with the blowjob, as his hand clamped on the back of her head, forcing her down, forcing her to take the whole thing. Not something she expected. Not something she could do.

Especially since her throat spasmed hard around his dick, unable to keep him out. She gurgled and gagged, hands scrabbling at his sides, trying to keep him out.

There was no keeping him back. He just forced her all the way down, all the way until her lips pressed tight around the base of his cock, her lips stretched so wide that she felt like the flesh would tear.

It was a moment that felt like an eternity. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, could only heave and gag around his cock until he grunted and sighed, coming down her throat.

And he was done with her. He huffed, shoving her back, letting her fall to the porch, letting her gasp and heave and choke. Her throat ached. She wanted to puke. Rough and mean with her, when all she did was give.

She sobbed softly, hands cupped around her throat. The tears probably started long ago, but she only then felt them on her skin, burning so hard, so harsh.

He got up, stepping over her like she was nothing. She was nothing to him. She would always be nothing to him. He could only wait until the end of her usefulness, and then he would choke the life out of her. No matter what she did, what she gave to him, she would always be thrown away when he was done.

That was fine. It was fine. It was what she could expect out of her life.

She only allowed herself a moment to recover, forcing herself up, collecting the clothing she had repaired. Black seemed done with outdoor time, so she turned off his radio, put out the candles, carrying everything inside.

Routine. The usual sort that Ryan was interrupting. It could either go very well or terribly. She wasn’t sure what the outcomes were, and which she would prefer. Maybe a good ending would be her dying quickly at Ryan’s hands. Who knew? She didn’t really know what was the most reasonable thing to want anymore. She knew that, deep down, she would like to continue crawling into bed with Black, cuddling up to his chest, feeling his fingertips dig too hard into her sides, into her thighs, holding her way too tight. She liked the little dots of purple bruises, memories of his grip.

Damage done to her. She was broken anyways. She’d long since given up on her knee, especially since it was definitely crooked, bowed outwards more than the other one. It was fine. She didn’t need to run anyways.

Tucking his laundry away to be washed the next day, she followed the glow of light down the hall to his bedroom. Already stripped down to his pajamas, he rummaged through his crate of bones for an appropriately sized one. He was content, then. That was good.

Not that she cared for the noises.

Drawing an apparently pleasingly sized bone, Black fit it between his teeth, shoving the crate away. He slid into bed, propping himself up on the pillows, the best angle for his chewing and crunching.

Bedtime, then. Carefully slipping out of her clothes, she found her typical hoodie, dragging it on over her head. It was the best choice for sleepwear, since it provided no resistance to him when he wanted to fuck her. Just hitch it up and go at it. Ideal.

Grabbing up the most ragged hairbrush she had ever seen, she slid into her side of the bed, carefully dragging her hair over her shoulder, combing it so slowly. It was soothing. It’d help her relax enough to sleep, anyways.

What a sight. What a place. A small, bruised woman, brushing her hair and untangling it from angry grabs, and a man, chewing on a bone meant for a dog, drooling and chomping like an animal. A perfect representation of the south, if she looked at it from her high horse back in California. But she was living it. It was all she had.

He pulled the bone from his mouth with a soft grunt, turning it this way and that, looking for a minute crack that he could take advantage of. “So what’s wrong with you?”

“Mm?” Her attention went first to the bone, to the tooth marks he left. “What do you mean?”

“Came in you so many times.” He dropped a hand, poking at her lower belly. Her uterus, by extension. “No kids.”

“What, do you want kids?” She pushed his hand away as gently as she could, pressing her hand over the spot, rubbing slowly. “Can’t have any. Infertile. Have an implant to balance my hormones, but yeah. No kids. Ever.”

He grunted, fitting the bone back between his teeth, mumbling around it. “Lucky.”

“Mm, right? Never had to worry whenever I found someone that wanted to fuck me.”

He shook his head a little, the bone cracked when he bit down hard enough on the perfect line of weakness. “Be dead if you got pregnant.”

Of course. She fought the urge to roll her eyes, focusing on that brush and her hair. Everything was a threat to her death. It was a little surreal how numb she was getting to the threat of her own death. Just as he wanted.

There was a little bit of silence, with him chewing, her combing. Dumb.

“Shame.”

“Oh, now it’s a shame?” She glanced over, flinching at the jerk of his head, the sharp shatter of the bone in his teeth. “Changing your mind.”

“No.” He hummed softly, licking his lips like a contended animal. “Coulda liked you if we met other ways.”

What.

“If you moved into town, we met normally? Dunno. Coulda liked you.”

Oh.

She couldn’t look away from him. She couldn’t breathe. He just set his half chewed bone aside, sinking lower in bed, reaching up to turn off the lamp. Sign enough for her to toss her comb over him, onto the bedside table, sinking down too. Her heart didn’t beat for even a moment.

What cruel insult. What a thing to say to her. What torture?

The urge to lash out at him swelled up for a moment, but as always, it was squashed down, under her obsession that had grown like a fungus on her brain. 

If she hadn’t stopped. If she had driven on to town, met people there, maybe she would have had a chance. People would have seen her before, noticed if she disappeared. She might have avoided Black completely, or just had a little fling with him. She wouldn’t have been beaten, raped, made to eat-

She had to close her eyes. Had to breathe. How dare he?

He sighed, folding his arms around her, sweeping her in against his chest, nuzzling into her hair. “Miss you when you’re gone.”

Fuck. Because there was no avoiding it. Because he was going to kill her no matter what, no matter how much he enjoyed her useless company.

Maybe it was sweet relief or cruel torture, but that night, she actually dreamt what it might be like, if she hadn’t been made to stay. Her torturous heart loved him, needed him, but with that little glimpse of what she could have had, she had her anger.

She had rage, she had distaste, and she had what little bit of herself he somehow hadn’t gotten to. Give it time, though. She was sure he could break that last bit of her before he strangled her to death.

Such added insult, fate had for her. It was early morning, the run barely cresting the horizon, and Black was fucking affectionate. She woke to nuzzling and needy mewls, his hands pawing up under her sweatshirt. She wanted to roll her eyes, wanted to complain, but it was her fucking broken devotion that had her helping him, taking him like he wanted. A morning quickie, something to get him going, punctuated by his groan into her hair, no doubt getting some of the strands in his mouth. He didn’t care. He never cared. He just went about his business like usual, getting ready for work and leaving so fucking early.

She wanted to stay in bed. Think about things, but she had long since passed that. She had to get up, had to clean. Her usual, quick bath on the back porch had her shivering, but it was nothing. She passed it off as nothing, dressing in the clothes gifted to her by Ryan, and got to work.

Without a collar, without restriction, and she would not even dare think of running. Oh how broken was she!

Clicking on the radio, she sang as she worked. Black liked singing. He sang with her sometimes, and he really did have a beautiful voice. Kind of eerie. He was happiest then. Sitting back in his chair, belting out with his favorite songs-

Fuck, she loved him and she hated herself for it. But that was old news. Someday, she would die for him. It was what she was made for. Maybe not initially, but it was the task she had found later in life, for however long that would last her.

She should make something special for dinner. Something heavily seasoned so she could spit in it and he wouldn’t notice. Not that he would actually care. He had everything to do with every single fluid that came out of her. He had no qualms with filth, with disgusting shit.

Spoke levels to how he dealt with her for so long. Because she was nasty and he liked that. Fucker.

They had some gator she could cook up. Some gator fingers with a good dipping sauce, that should make him happy. Sneak in some celery and carrot sticks, get them both to eat something a little healthier. She wasn’t doing great when it came to health. He liked good food, tasty food. Tasty food was definitely not healthy.

Her life was unlike anything she’d ever imagined. It was like being a housewife in an abusive relationship. It was great. Real great.

Dropping the strips of battered gator into the oil, she hummed softly to the droning plucking of the guitar spilling over the radio. She loved that song so much. Made her happy, made her want to dance. It was almost hypnotizing. Almost enough to take all her fears away.

Almost enough to take the creeping tension that built up her spine at the tap-tap-tap of nails on the table.

She should turn around. It would be the smart thing to do. But if she turned around, then she would have to acknowledge that her whole life was a fucking horror movie, and she wasn’t ready for that.

“Such a pretty little maid.”

Fuck. Please. Please no. She closed her eyes, breathing out slowly. She survived Boone. She survived Gus, survived Black, survived sitting in that shed with a corpse. She could survive exactly what she knew was sitting behind her.

“Hello, Ryan,” she sighed, turning over the strips of gator in the oil. “I’d ask you what you want, but I’m pretty sure I know.”

“Blackie be home soon?”

“Maybe. Dunno.” Just keep cooking.

“Then you and me can talk. Lovely.”

Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. “What’s there to talk about?” Her voice definitely cracked. Fuck. She had to be fucking strong, dammit.

“Black been sweet with you? He let you watch TV? Let you watch the news at all, mm?” Ryan had such a laugh going. He felt all the power in the world. “Let you see the reports of a missing author named September Mendax?”

Dammit. She whipped around, eyes narrowing at that stupidly confident fucker. “If it was all over the news, then why haven’t the people in town done anything?”

“Alright, alright, you got me.” His hands snapped up way too fast, a false surrender. “I may be stretching it a little. The missing person reports stopped months ago, and even then they didn’t even make it to Cadeau. In case you didn’t notice, we’re in the middle of nowhere. No one cares about Cadeau. And no one would ever find you here…unless I made a call.” The more he spoke, the more his drooping face split into a grin. “Should I make a call?”

Don’t lash out. Just breathe and glare.

His smile didn’t falter, his bony shoulders jerking in a shrug, dragging his cracked nails over his stubble in an idle scratch. “Black’s been in shit for years. Caught him balls deep in some dead bitch some years back. Didn’t know we had so much in common. Kind of bonded a lil’ about it. He’s always been smart. Until you.”

Another necrophiliac, hooray. She held on to the counter behind her, trying to keep her breath steady against the pounding of her heart. She knew Black. She knew how he wanted to kill her. She didn’t know Ryan, oh gods, she didn’t know.

“Must be a good fuckin’ cook, mm? You good at sucking dick? Why he like you so much?”

“Because I take his dick no problem.” She should just stay quiet. She was so bad at everything. “That’s the only reason he’s told me.”

Ryan hummed like he suspected it the whole time. “I mean, most people end up taking his dick one way or another, I imagine. Didn’t think he took the time to care about comfort of his…lovers.” A broken, manic giggle bubbled up in his throat at the mere idea. “Oh man, you must be real good.”

Nope. No. Please. She knew what that talking was about. She knew what he wanted.

“We got some time before he gets here. Why don’t you and me get to know each other a little better?” He hoisted himself up from the kitchen table, straightening that stupid, beat up jacket.

She hadn’t fought in so long. She had no idea how long it had been, how long Black had had her. She had to remember what it was like to fight, to want to survive, to resist a man’s advances.

She let him saunter closer. Let him think she was going to let it happen. Wait for the perfect moment.

The moment came when he lunged for her. When he twitched forwards, she whipped around, clamping her hands on the handles of the pan, still shimmering with boiling hot oil. The metal of the pan burned her hands, but she didn’t care, didn’t stop. She twisted and slung the oil with a shockingly accurate arc.

It was like slow motion. She got to watch the golden oil sling through the air and slap across Ryan’s face, just barely missing his eyes.

His howl of agony was like the purest, most intense orgasm she had ever experienced. Really, she understood Black a little better, though only a little. She had hate on her side to enjoy that sound. Black was just a twisted motherfucker.

And really! She understood why the people ran away a lot in horror movies. She was scared, she wanted to get away, but she couldn’t. Frustration and hate and anger built up more and more inside of her. She was already in a shitty situation, and he made it even worse.

So she screamed and bore down on him, on the hunched, shaking shape, swinging the pan wildly. Oh, the satisfaction when the pan slammed into his shoulder. He wheezed and flailed, fighting through the agony of a burn. She felt power. She felt strength. She felt the ability to rise up and maybe-

Ryan’s hands clapped down on her wrists, squeezing intensely, horribly hard. She felt bones shift, maybe even crack, and the pan slipped out of her grip, clattering onto the ground just past the half hunch Ryan had on the kitchen floor.

“You little-”

Nope. She shoved her burned hands into his grip. A direction he wasn’t expecting, definitely. Especially counting on the way he slid on the spilled oil, swaying from side to side until he lost his balance, slamming onto the floor, his grip loosening on her wrists just enough.

Fuck, fucking fuck. That fear hit, and she lunged away from him, for the kitchen door. Her knee flared with agony, coaxing a sharp sob from her already clenched throat, but she kept going.

Where was she going? She didn’t know. She just had to get away from Ryan.

A silly dream. She hadn’t been able to run away the whole time she had been there with Black. There was no way she could get away then, could survive.

Ryan’s hand clapped down on her shoulder. She knew that grab. She had known it was coming. She knew she was going to be dragged back.

She didn’t know a knife was going to slide into her back, slicing through her shirt and her flesh without pause.

She inhaled, but couldn’t manage to scream. She gaped, eyes stretching wide, staring without sight up at nothing.

“Stupid fuckin’ cunt,” Ryan hissed in her ear, twisting the knife up into her back. “Had to throw the oil, hm? You let Black fuck you. What’s wrong with me?”

Oh, she so wished she could have had some kind of snarky response. All she could do was sit there and take that knife.

“Suppose I can take him down just as well if you’re dead.”

She could feel the knife as he drew it out. If she thought it hurt before, it didn’t compare to the feeling once it was out. It built, with each stab. She started to lose count, could only feel the burn, the slice, the aching pain build and build.

He either got bored, or something. It didn’t matter, because he let go of her, letting her fall to the floor.

“Damn shame. Thought I could convince him to keep you around. Let me play some. You ain’t bad to look at.” He hissed and spat, maybe on her, maybe on the floor. “Just had to do the fuckin’ oil.”

Yeah, okay. Sure. She gasped against the floor, digging her nails into the worn wood. She was in so much pain. She couldn’t breathe properly. Her whole back felt sticky. How much blood was there?

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

Oh yes, she was going to die. She was going to die! And still, somehow, she had no idea how to feel about that. She’d laugh if she could. She could just gasp. That was enough.

Ryan might have kept talking. Time passed, that was for sure. She had no idea how long she laid there.

Maybe she started to die. That lovely, relaxing situation was so rudely interrupted by cursing.

Who was cursing? Someone was cursing. It made her twitch, made her open her eyes.

Perfect timing. She got to open her eyes just in time to see Black slam into Ryan, the two of them tumbling out of sight.

Black was there. He’d come home. He could watch her die. Hopefully that would make him happy.

Sound faded in and out for a while. She might have heard gurgling. It didn’t really matter. She shuddered and wheezed. That was fun. A good focus on her time.

The only thing capable of taking her out of her peaceful passage into the afterlife would be the hard clap of hands onto her back, pressing way too hard on her stab wounds. It was the perfect amount of agony and surprise that she managed her first, truly valiant scream.

“Fuck,” Black hissed, fingers slipping over blood and torn skin. “Fuck!”

Yeah, okay. He was allowed to be angry. She might have wailed, might have cried, but honestly, it felt like laughter. She choked and shook, spasming so hard that she seemed to rattle against the floor.

“The fuck did you do, Sep?” Black shoved at her, getting her over onto her back, bundling her up. “How did-”

She hummed, lolling towards him, not even bothering to try and keep her eyes open. “Guess y’can’t choke me to death, Blackie.”

Really. That was the first thing out of her mouth. That was, potentially, the last thing she ever said. Her dying words. In high school, her senior quote was something that constantly came up every single time she had a conversation.

Last words are for fools who haven’t said enough.

Karl Marx said that. Not exactly someone she aspired to be like, but they were good words to follow. Coaxed her along for most of her life.

Her last words were such a joke.

A sharp slam of something brought a breath out of her, her eyes snapping open again.

She was in the truck. Why was she in the truck? She was going to get blood everywhere, no. Black was going to be so mad.

Her eyes closed at some point. When she opened them, the truck was moving, Black behind the wheel. She was content to close them again forever. She was so tired. So sleepy. It would be nice to just sleep.

He wouldn’t allow it. Black wouldn’t allow it. How funny was that? It was hilarious. She wanted to laugh, especially when his hands cupped her cheeks, shaking her awake with all the gentleness that he had shown throughout their entire relationship. Relationship! Ha!

“I decide. Mine. Mine!” His voice was a growl, desperate and broken. “Not before. Ryan can’t.”

“Blackie?” Were her eyes open? She couldn’t tell. “What are you…”

His mouth covered hers for a second. A kiss? Maybe. It was something. The truck door screeched, and her world tilted as Black shoved her out of the passenger seat of his truck, letting her tumble all the way down onto the pavement.

Sep somehow had the energy to scream in pain. Wow. Amazing.

But the truck rumbled and roared, and drove away.

And she passed out. Or died. She hoped died.

Having the capacity to hope that she had died meant that she hadn’t, right? She still felt pain, felt swaying. She heard words distantly. So much motion, so much going on and she could do nothing to understand what was happening.

It was funny. She’d spent years with nothing exciting happening in her life. No one could ever expect to be held captive, made to love a horrible, broken man. She honestly didn’t expect to get out of the end of it alive.

But she did. Fuck it all, she did.

Incessant beeping was the first thing she became aware of. Beep. Beep. Beep. So much. Geezus. She groaned, fighting to open her eyes, even to move. Her whole body felt way too warm, flush with a heat she’d never been familiar with. No, wait, once. She experienced it years before when her ovary had decided to burst, and she had to go to the hospital, and they’d given her morphine. Yeah. It was like that.

Oh gods, it was exactly like that.

Her eyes snapped open then. Just as she thought, she saw machinery and tubes. The edge of a hospital bed. She was in a hospital. Holy fuck she was in a hospital. Why was she in a hospital? She shouldn’t be there.

“Hey, look who’s awake! How are you feeling? Any pain?”

What? She was laying on her side, propped up by pillows at her belly and lower back. She was in a hospital bed, had an IV, had a gown on and she didn’t know, she couldn’t know-

Why was she there? Why was she alive? Out of everything, out of all that time, she was in a hospital, away from Black and she could…she could…

She screamed. Maybe wailed. She didn’t know. She just let out sounds, loud sounds. She clawed at the blankets underneath her and she screamed. Stress release, horror, sadness, so much. She howled, choking on spit and tears. She’d puke if she could. Just to get it all out, get everything out.

The nurse cooed in the distance, hands stroking her arm, trying to comfort her. There was no helping it. She just needed to get it out. Ages of stress, of suffering had to come out somehow.

In time, her sobs subsided. She was exhausted, inside and out. Honestly, she was lucky she had an IV, replacing all the fluids she cried out.

Black brought her to a hospital. That was the only explanation. He took her to a hospital because he didn’t want her to die by stabbing. No no, he wanted, to choke her. Any other death wasn’t allowed. 

How kind of him. How wonderfully kind.

She giggled, stupid, manic. She was definitely going insane.

But she was out. She was free. Actually free.

Why didn’t she feel like it?


	9. One Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sep recovers in the hospital, as much as she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've been writing other things and just...got distracted. One more chapter, I think! And this story will be done. Just one more.

Survival wasn’t anything she had anticipated for ages. Why would she? She was a plaything, never meant to survive.

So, her life, her existence in that hospital bed had to be a dream. It was all a dream.

Her eyes were so dry. When was the last time she blinked? It was hard to tell. She wasn’t even sure if she was looking at the wall anymore. Everything was blurry. It was hard to tell.

She should be happy. She knew she should be happy.

All there was was emptiness.

The door to her room creaked open, and a few moments later, the curtain was drawn back. A nurse came shuffling in, a tray of food in hand. She gave her a brave smile, pulling the little table over to set up the food. She didn’t move for it. She hadn’t in a long time.

“You need to eat, honey. You need food to heal.”

She knew that. She knew she wanted to do a lot of things. She just closed her eyes, and let the tears roll down her cheeks.

The nurse laid a gentle hand on her arm, squeezing as reassuringly as she could manage. How well trained could she have been to deal with a woman that had been missing for months? A woman who didn’t know how to feel? What to do?

“Thank you, Nurse Summers. We can take it from here.”

“Well, see if you can get her to eat.” The nurse gave her one last squeeze, and brushed past two men that entered into her hospital room.

She could smell that they were cops. It was funny. She’d never been a criminal, but she’d never liked cops. Probably never would. She knew what evils they could do and somehow, impossibly, get away with it. She just watched them impassively as they drew over chairs, sitting at the foot of her bed.

“Hello there, Ms. Mendax. How is your pain?”

She managed to smile wryly, reaching up to swipe some tears off of her cheeks. “Smart. Not asking me how I’m feeling. Just asking about my pain.”

The two men shared a look. “We thought it best. I am Officer Roane, and this is Doctor Wolfe. He’s a-”

“Psychiatrist, no doubt.” She sniffed, looking at her tray of food. Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and some jello. She needed to eat. She made herself pick up the plastic fork, scooping up some mashed potatoes. “I appreciate the caution.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Officer Roane agreed, pulling a tablet out of his jacket. “Do you think you can answer some questions?”

“You want to know where I was.” She blinked slowly, lifting the fork, but merely staring at the potatoes perched on the tines. “Who’s pressing charges?”

The officer tapped at something, sorting through a file she was sure they had on her. “A Mr. Stephen Williams is pressing charges. Do you know this man?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, finally putting the food in her mouth. “My editor. Had no idea he gave a shit.”

“Yes, well.” Roane cleared his throat, tapping back to something. “He was the one who filed the missing person’s report on you seven months ago.”

Oh god. Seven months. Had it really been that long? Seven long months of cooking, of cleaning, of fucking, so much fucking, of snuggling close and the kisses, so many kisses and fond purrs of her name, of his name, of sex and devotion and love, love, love-

She clapped a hand over her mouth, her throat clenching hard, trying to force the food back up. Tears burned, but she choked, and swallowed, trying to breathe deep.

“Are you alright, Ms. Mendax?” Wolfe asked then, like she was some kind of specimen.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, wiping the wetness out of an eye. “I didn’t realize it had been so long. Lost track of time.”

“Understandable. We had long since thought you dead, honestly.”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t you?” She should have been dead. She should have been dead ages ago. She’d earned her life in cooking and sex. Fuck. “I thought I was dead.”

“We would like to ask you about what happened, if you feel ready. We can investigate this, and we can bring whoever did this to you to justice.”

Bring Black to justice. Like that was even possible. Was it possible? Give all that she knew, have every detail laid out, and they go find Black? Make him pay for all that he had done to her?

Her heart throbbed. It was hard to breathe. Picturing the police, forcing him down, cuffing him. It hurt. She couldn’t think of it. She just couldn’t. She swallowed, she took a deep breath, and she looked them in the eye.

“There were at least two men that held me captive. It was hard to tell; they wore masks.”

“You’re certain there were two?” Roane started to scribble down notes, glancing between her and the notebook. “If they wore masks…”

“One was quite fat. The other was very thin. They were strong though.” She was a writer. She was good at telling stories. “They raped me.” She faltered then, looking down at her food again, nudging at the green beans. “After a few months, I started to ask for it. Because I knew it would keep them from hurting me. My knee…”

The scratch of pen on screen was almost grating, but she had to seem compliant. She had to try. Why would she protect Black so vehemently? He hurt her. He ruined her knee. He forced her to eat human flesh, over and over, forcing her and-

Fuck.

“I was chained in a shed for a long time. They starved me. I don’t remember much.”

“Can you give us heights? Ethnicities?”

She gave details as they came to mind. She didn’t entirely care if they made sense. She stared at her food, talking as much as they wanted her to talk. She had always been good at talking, rambling, even if it felt like she wasn’t.

She didn’t know she was crying until one of them came up beside her, resting his hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay. We have enough for now. You just need to rest and heal now, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Swallowing past the phlegm and tears, she forced a mouthful of food in, chewing slowly. “Will you let my editor know I’m here?”

“Yes, we have contacted him. He will no doubt come to see you.”

Right. Sure. It all depended on a lot. “Where am I, anyways?”

Roane shared a look with Wolfe, speaking slowly. He expected her to spook. “Jefferson County, ma’am. In a small town called Elyton.”

It was possible that that was where she had been the whole time, but it was unlikely. He murdered plenty of people before her. There was no way he’d leave her alive in the same town that he had kept her. He was already taking risks by keeping her alive. He wouldn’t push it by keeping her in the same town.

But he’d keep her close, so when she was better, when he was sure that she was alive, he could come and strangle her. He wouldn’t keep her alive for much longer, not when he almost lost her the first time. He wanted to kill her.

After everything. After all that she had done for him. After the cooking, and the care, and the sex she had given him, he didn’t care for her at all. There was no reason for him to care. He was empty, unfeeling. She was a toy for his entertainment. That was all she had ever been.

The thought alone made her heart ache. She was broken. She was out, and she was broken.

It was two more days before Stephen showed up. Despite all of the arguing and disagreements over the years of working for her, he came in with a goddamn cactus in a pot and nothing but concern in his eyes.

The whole thing made her laugh. Cry. Blubber out things as he sat by her side and held her hand. Her whole life, all of it, all of it had led up to nothing for her. She had no bonds to anyone. No family, no friends, no lovers. Just her editor, and just a psychopath that had kept her captive and used her up. Hell, she was even lucky that her editor thought to look for her. How would it all have gone if he hadn’t cared enough to put out a missing person’s report?

Ryan wouldn’t have pushed Black. Wouldn’t have come, wouldn’t have tried to blackmail Black. Nothing would have changed, and she would have remained with him forever, until he wanted to kill her.

What a dream. That thought calmed her tears a bit. But it was just a dream, and what she had was harsh, vicious reality.

And the reality of it was that Black was going to come and kill her the first chance he got. She had a chance to get away, and she would have to take it.

When she awoke, she felt the ache inside of her that was just like death. She knew what she had to do. The clarity of it came to her, and she was so fortunate to look to Stephen. Thank God he was there.

“Get me out of here.”

“Nuh-” Stephen choked on his spit, jolting awake again. “What?”

“I need to leave this hospital. I don’t want to be here anymore. Get me out of his hospital, out of this county. I want to go home.”

“Geez, uh.” He cleared his throat, wiping his fist over his lips. Drool, no doubt. “Aren’t you still a part of a police investigation?”

“I’ve told them everything I know. I don’t feel safe here. I want to go home.”

He seemed less than convinced, but maybe it was the frantic terror in her eyes that did it. He grumbled some kind of affirmative, rising out of his chair with the stiff movements of someone who had been sleeping too long.

She had to get out of there before Black tracked her down. As much as she ached to see him again, she knew better. He’d kill her, and she wanted to be alive. She wanted to live, to get her life back together. Something about her life. As broken as she was, she knew people recovered and got better all the time. She would recover, and it would all just become a bad dream.

She would just never have sex ever again, because she knew no one would ever feel as good as Black ever again. His weight, his warmth, his roughness was incomparable. Nothing would ever feel right again. Just stay in her apartment, write her books, and never travel for a fucking book deal ever again.

The doctors resisted, the police even more so. She didn’t need to fake any tears or hysterics. She begged, pleaded, she wanted to go home, she wanted to leave, she wanted to forget and start over, she wanted her skin to stop aching, she wanted to stop wanting Black, missing Black, dreaming of him and wanting, wanting, wanting-

Her apparent bout of frantic insanity was persuasive enough to the small town police force. They signed her release forms with the vehement urging that she have bed rest as much as possible with the added stipulation that she stay close to the phone, in case they needed more information from her.

It was fine. It was all fine. She just needed to get away.

More famous than she thought, she supposed. There were some reporters at the airport when she made it back to California. Stephen showed his usefulness, holding them back, getting her to a taxi, and finally, finally back to her apartment.

If there was one thing he wasn’t good at, it was being a caring person. He awkwardly flitted around her apartment once they were there, but he might as well not have been there. Her mind was so far gone at that point, she could have been on the moon and not even noticed.

Her bed wasn’t right. It wasn’t his. The food she found in the cabinets was too bland. Her skin, too lonely. The air, too dry. Months of being in that house, being chained, trained, it had changed everything. When Stephen left, she existed, but just barely.

Writing didn’t feel like something she could ever do again. She opened her laptop a few times, but found herself just pulling up online maps. She just wanted to know where she had been.

That was fine, right? It was good to know where she had come from.

Not like she was ever going to tell the police the truth, though. Without her there, pushing for a persecution, why would they continue to look? They wouldn’t find anything. Hell, she didn’t even remember what details she had told them. She just knew it was nothing like Black. She hadn’t described how tall, and strong, and handsome he was.

Fuck.

What time was it? How many days had it been? She didn’t know. She sat in her pajamas in front of her laptop, the blue glow burning her eyes in the late night dimness of her apartment. It was two in the morning, her tired glance told her. Her eyes burned. Sleep was impossible. Her bed was too empty and cold.

Jefferson County. How far away was that from where she had been? She stared, waiting for something to make sense, something to be familiar. It was silly. There was no point in knowing it. She was away. She was free.

Not as free as she could be, though. What with the dreams. Every detail came back to her at all hours. Not just Black, either. Ruby, and Ryan. Ryan came to mind a lot. His face was haunting. So saggy, so corpse-like. His sneer when he wanted to rape her. His mocking, his blackmailing.

Sighing, she scrubbed her fist over her eye. It felt gritty, and it throbbed. She wasn’t sleeping enough. It was stupid. She reached for her laptop, slinging it shut.

Cadeau.

Her whole body spasmed, her eyes snapping wide open. Ryan had said something about Cadeau. Small town. Cadeau. Cadeau. Cadeau!

Yanking her laptop back open, her fingers flew over the keys, searching for Cadeau. She misspelled it a few times, but she finally got it, and the town popped up. Cadeau. Where Black lived. Where she had been.

Okay. Cool. So she knew what it looked like. Peachy.

Sinking back in her chair, she stared at the etching of the map on her screen. There was no point in knowing it was there. She was away from it. He couldn’t get her again.

Or he could. He had her wallet, her identification card. He could follow the address right back to her. But why would he? He certainly wouldn’t travel across the country to kill someone he never cared about. She had been his entertainment, nothing more. He had to know that he was home free. And he would just get another victim.

Her gut twisted up. Jealousy. Well that was fucked.

She needed sleep. Slapping her laptop shut for good that time, she pushed her chair back, limping on her bad knee over to her bed. Flopping onto the blankets, she dragged a pillow to her chest, curling around it. Too cold, too soft.

Great. So they knew where each other lived. Fantastic. If she wanted Black to pay for what he did to her, she could give the police the town.

No, no. She wouldn’t do that. Black was her burden to bear. Her memory. And on top of it all, she still had warm, fuzzy dreams about him. The stupid, quiet evenings in his bed, him chewing on his bones, her snuggled up to his side. Perfect, quiet peace.

Cadeau. Gift. In the six years she had taken of French, she remembered that much easier. What a joke. What irony.

She might have slept a bit, but she kept waking up with tears running from her eyes. It was fucking ridiculous. It had been weeks since she had gotten out. It’d probably go better if she went and talked to a professional about it, but no. That was fine. She was fine. It was all fine, she was fine, fine, fine, fine. Everything was fine.

It was normal to miss Black. She’d been with him for months. Of course she would miss him. He hadn’t been mean all the time. That was enough to make her miss him. He was over in Cadeau, and she was in California, and it was fine. She was fine. Even if she would never, ever get over him again. She was broken.

There was no saving her, hm? There was no way she could talk about what had happened to her. She wasn’t just going to get better. She was going to rot inside forever, missing Black, missing the life that she would have had with him until she felt his hands around her neck.

No. No, he didn’t deserve her death. After everything she had given him, everything she had done for him, he didn’t get to kill her. Not allowed. He didn’t deserve it. She gave him fantastic sex, comfort, companionship. He could try and get another pet, but no one would be like her. No they wouldn’t! She was best for him. The best. Absolute best. She knew what he liked, knew his tendencies.

The thought made her giggle, hiding her face in her pillow. She was amazing for him. He had to know that. And what if he didn’t? No, he had to know. He’d let her live. He’d liked her enough to take her to the hospital. He had to know that she was amazing and perfect for him.

What if he didn’t know?

Well, she could go tell him.

Her eyes snapped open, blind in the darkness of her apartment. She could go. She knew where he lived. She could go and tell him that she was his best companion, and that would be perfect.

What if he disagreed? He could still want to kill her. He could still want to strangle her. That just wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t be right. She would talk to him, and they would figure it out. There was nothing to worry about.

No. No! That was crazy! She was crazy. She was fucking crazy. Fuck.

Another night of no sleep. Even worse considering she had nothing but the thoughts of a crazy person. She wouldn’t ask for help. She couldn’t ask for help. She was fine, everything was fine, she had nothing to worry about. Yeah.

It was a mantra to keep telling herself, over and over as she fried up some eggs to eat. She really needed to get back to writing, but that in itself was impossible to do when she could hardly handle being alone with her thoughts.

Though writing was a good way to relive things. She could write about her time with him, remember it, relive it. No, no. If someone read it, then they’d know that she lied to the police. They’d figure it out, and she wouldn’t let anyone touch Black. He was hers. All hers.

No. Stop it.

Ugh. She tapped her fist against her forehead, like she could beat away the thoughts. She was the worst victim in the world. She knew her thoughts were twisted up. They had to heal. She had to be better. Please. Please let her get better, be better, move on. Gods, please.

Just as she plated up her eggs, her phone started to buzz. It was amazing that she even had it partially charged, still. That bit of marveling thought had her staring at the phone for a while until she remembered answering it was a thing. Right. Tapping the screen, she picked up her fork, leaning against her counter to eat.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Mendax. Hello. This is Doctor Wolfe.”

“Oh. Hi. What’s up?”

“I was calling to see how you were doing. You went through a traumatic experience, after all.”

“Yes. Thank you for reminding me. I had forgotten.” Rolling her eyes, she shoved a bit of egg into her mouth.

“Sarcasm. That’s good. I merely wanted to check in on you, as you did run quite quickly from the hospital. That was concerning, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I just couldn’t stand to be there anymore. It brought back too many memories.”

“Did it? That’s interesting. I almost started to think that you had been running from something.”

“Yeah. The memories.” Stupid brain doctors. She shoved more eggs into her mouth. They didn’t taste like anything.

“Well, have you been speaking to a professional of late? They can help you work through these issues, of course.”

“No. I haven’t had time to look. Getting back to work, and all. Busy working on my novels again, you know.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Regardless, you may want to consider finding someone to speak to. These sorts of situations can build up into much more in your mind. You were, after all, held captive for an extended period of time. It would make sense that you would experience some mental blocks in regards to this issue. What you went through-”

“Oh yes, keep reminding me. I’m spending every night trying to forget everything. But you know what? It just keeps coming back.”

“And it will continue to until you speak to someone about it, Ms. Mendax. What you went through would have broken even the strongest of people. It is remarkable that you even survived.”

She rolled her eyes, continuing to eat. Yeah, she was pretty sure everyone would tell her that.

“All I’m saying is that you should consider this. What you went through is not something that people can reasonably leave without some lasting damage.”

A sigh left her, and she ground the heel of her palm against her eye. The burning in her heart was almost too much. “I miss him. I dream about him. I want to go back.”

Doctor Wolfe inhaled sharply. Fuck, she’d let details slip. She just couldn’t hold it in, couldn’t handle everything she had wrapped up inside of her.

“Ignore me,” she grumbled, fumbling with her phone. “I’m fine.”

“Fine someone to speak to, Ms. Mendax. As soon as possible. It is imperative for your health. Please.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She poked the little red button much harder than she needed to, shoving it as far away from her as possible. She could handle her own thoughts. She could choke away the want, the broken corruption. It was perfectly normal after all that had happened.

But gods, she wanted to see him again. Just one more time. One more time, to remind herself that he was horrible, and disgusting, and ugly, and awful.

Yeah. That wasn’t so bad, right? Just a quick peek. She had money. She could go to Cadeau, and she could look him in the eye and she could leave again. She’d be prepared that time. Yeah. It’d go better! It had to be better!

She could take a weapon. Fend him off if he tried to do anything to her. It’d be so easy.

Her eyes dragged across her apartment, to her bedroom. There was a box. A box in her closet, tucked away. A gift a long time ago from an old friend that didn’t like her living alone. That friend had long since stopped talking to her, but the gift remained.

Just one look. Just go back to Cadeau, and look him in the eyes one last time. That was all. One look, and she’d be okay. She could come back home, and she’d be better. Her memories of him were better than the reality. She knew that.

One look. One last time.

She giggled again, cupping her hand over her grinning teeth.

Just…One. Last. Time.


	10. End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's changed. She wants it to end. And it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I finished it. I started writing this fic on October 23rd, based on a dream I'd had about Black a week prior. Hah. Just a year to finish it! Wow! I'm really sad! But I still haven't stopped writing about Black, and it'll probably be a while until I do.  
> Thanks so much for creating such an awesome character, Davi. He's the best swamp boi.

She exhaled with the belch of steam from her bathroom door. She felt renewed. Reborn.

There was intent. Hope. She knew what she was going to do, where she was going to go. That was amazing. She had never felt that way before, even when she was just a writer. It was like she could feel every bit of blood flowing through her veins.

She had to look good, after all. She wanted to look good.

Humming a song under her breath, she scrubbed a towel through her hair. Should she straighten it? No, no, she liked the soft curls of her hair. She should shave the side of her head, though. It was the longest it had ever been, super shaggy and weird. She wanted him to see her crisp and clean again.

That humming built into a soft song, not that it was any good. The acoustics of her apartment were all wrong. She needed the wide open space of Black’s house.

Such a nice house. The shaded porch, his favorite chair. The smell of citronella, the low drone of hundreds of bugs in the distance. The southern aesthetic, the peace of Black’s home made everything seem so much better there.

Back in her bathroom, she shrugged off her towel, bringing it up to wipe her mirror clear of the condensation. Her reflection looked back, though it was a bit smeared.

The bruises had all turned yellow and green, faded from the weeks away from Black. As much as she wanted to pick up and go immediately, preparations had to be made. She had to make sure everything was perfect. She had to be perfect for him.

Her chin tilted up, and she looked at the ring of scars around her neck. Old, faded. Such a shame. A trickle of sadness filtered through her, but that was okay. Blackie could add some bruises back once he put her collar back on her.

No, no. She was just going to see him and leave. She was going to remind herself that he was a horrible, awful man.

Closing her eyes tight, she took slow, steady breaths. The thoughts still lingered, so she shook her head, gripping the sink tight. Steady. Don’t have those thoughts. He was awful, he hurt her, he ruined her knee, he raped her. He made her eat human flesh. Think about that. Focus on the bad, on the awful.

Was that what it was like? To be insane? Twisted, warring thoughts, an ache to do something more, but the body denying it? She couldn’t have a single, complete thought. Everything was twisted up, contorted with thoughts of Black McGrath.

“Fuck,” she breathed, grinding her knuckles against her eye. If only she could reach in and rip those thoughts out of her head. “What did you do to me, Black? What did you do?”

No answers, of course. Shaking her head again, she grabbed up her razor. She needed to get some semblance of order in her life so they wouldn’t freak out at the airport about her looking like a crazy person.

“But oh, I am a crazy person,” she mumbled, turning her head and carefully shearing the shaggy hair away. “I’m fucking crazy in love with a psychopath. Mmhm. A stinky, smelly man with too rough hands and a terrible attitude. Yup. I’m the crazy person that keeps telling myself that I’ll be able to go and look him in the face and walk away. Mmhm.”

With each stroke, more and more hair rained down into her sink. She really should clean that, but why? Would she even come back home? Probably not. Who was she kidding?

She chuckled softly, smoothing her hand over her newly shaved scalp. Not as clean as she would like, but it would do. He didn’t seem to much care about her hair. Just liked her body and what she could do with it.

Which was good. She could go, show him that she was better, and leave. Get a new life. Yeah. That was a plan. Get a new apartment, somewhere new, and start over. It didn’t matter where she was. She could write from anywhere. And he wouldn’t be able to follow her. She’d be safe and she could start over.

Unless he missed her and wanted her to stay.

No! Stop it. Stop.

Scrubbing her towel over her freshly trimmed hair, she wandered out of the bathroom, looking around at her room. It would probably be one of the last times she saw it. She wasn’t coming back. On her own choice. No more. She had enough saved up she could just go somewhere else and start over.

She should get dressed first, but she still wandered over to her closet. Another hum, and she reached up and pulled down the lock box she’d kept up there for years. The case she had ordered had just arrived. Might as well get it all set up.

Oh, she’d almost forgotten the combination. A click-click-click, and she opened the lid, smiling down at the sleek black metal inside the case. She’d never agreed with guns, but sometimes, they were necessary. She had to make sure he couldn’t do anything to her.

So a gun it was.

Still humming, she plucked the gun out of the case, turning it over in her hands. A long time ago, she used to go to the gun range with her father. She hadn’t been particularly good at shooting, but she’d hit the target, center mass. That was all she needed.

Just in case. She didn’t want to, but she would if she had to. He wasn’t going to hurt her again, no.

She popped out the magazine, reaching across the bed to the hard case she’d gotten. Popping it open, she put the magazine in the padded slot for it, then pulled back the slide, checking for a bullet in the chamber. Nice and clean, and into the padded case it went.

Just in case, just in case. Case. Hah. She giggled to herself, closing and locking the case. She hoped she wouldn’t need it, but as Black had taught her, it was always good to be prepared. Worry that dinner might burn? Have a backup dinner.

She really didn’t need anything else, but it would be suspicious if she flew without any other kind of luggage. Might as well pack a bag.

Plans, so many plans. See him again, figure things out. She could reset her whole life, be more, do better. She’d learned enough, and she could change her fate.

“Ef ye had a chance ta change yer fate, woodja,” she mumbled to herself, smiling. Dumb humor, but it came to mind. She was talking to herself a lot more than she used to. That was worth mentioning.

Where was her damn suitcase? Oh, probably back in her car. In the south. With Black.

Oh, she could just use a totebag or something. It wasn’t like it really mattered. She’d just throw everything away and start over. Yeah. It was fine. Oh, a duffle bag. That was even better. And she had one in the closet.

She should probably get clothes on too. Couldn’t be walking around the apartment naked all day. Oh, why didn’t she do that for Black? She already didn’t wear pants most of the time when she was there. Might as well go all the way and wear nothing.

Nope. No. Stop that. She tsked at herself, smoothing her clothes on her torso as she headed out into the rest of her apartment. She as going to head straight for her closet, but made a quick detour when she heard her phone ringing. Checking the screen, she smiled, tapping the green button and lifting the phone to her ear.

“Hello,” she sang, wandering over to the closet, hauling it open.

“Well hello, Ms. Mendax. I must say, I’m quite pleased to hear that tone of voice. You sound like you’re doing very well.”

“Doctor Wolfe! What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Pinching the phone between her shoulder and ear, she sorted through the shelves in there. She knew she had a duffel bag in there.

“I felt compelled to check in on you. I wanted to make sure that you started seeing someone. And, from the sounds of it, you have.”

“Me? Oh no, I haven’t started seeing anyone. Free as a bird, you know.” Oh, there it was. Top shelf of course. Why did she ever put things on the top shelf when she was so damn short? Tsking softly, she turned to look for the stool she usually had nearby. Oh, if Black was around, he could get it for her without an issue. He was so damn tall.

“O-oh? Really? Could you, perhaps, explain your mood then?”

“Look at you, diagnosing me over the phone.” She giggled at that, thumping the stool down in front of closet. “I feel much better now. I have full plans, future plans. I know where I’m going now, and you have nothing to worry about.”

“To be completely unprofessional, that makes me worry more. You seemed quite upset the last time that we talked. This mood change is concerning.”

“Well I just get it now. I know what I need to do.”

“Oh. No, Ms. Mendax, really, I must insist that-”

“I’m going back. I’m going to face him. Or them. How many people did I say there was?” She giggled, flapping her hand at nothing. “I don’t even remember. Why would I have told you guys the truth anyways? He’s mine, you know? I can’t let anyone get him. He’s my responsibility. He’s mine. My boyfriend.” She giggled again. Oh, what would Black think about that title?

“Ms. Mendax. Please listen to me very carefully. That would not be the best course of action. I advise you stay where you are, and I can call for a professional counselor to come and speak to you. Just take a seat and relax.” There was a definite quake in his voice. Honestly, why was he so nervous?

“No no, that’s alright. I have so much to do. I’m his too, you know. His pet. He probably misses me. If he’s replaced me, oh gosh, he’s just going to realize all that he’s missing out on. I have to go back.” Oh, what a thought. Him a with a new pet. They wouldn’t know how to spice everything, what meals were his favorite. He was a big boy and he needed to eat right.

“See if her address is on file, for fuck’s sake,” Wolfe spat in the distance of his phone, yelling at someone else. An assistant? Probably an assistant. He was an important doctor, after all. “Ms. Mendax,” he returned, breathless. “No need to be so rash. I’d love to hear about your boyfriend. We can talk all about him.”

“Oh, so you can find him? No no, that’s alright. I’m not pressing charges anyways, and I’m sure good ol’ Stephen’s forgotten the whole thing. Did I fire him? I think I did.” Duffle bag in hand, she wandered back into her bedroom, tossing it onto the bed. Should just throw anything in, but what if she did stay? She had some lovely, naughty clothes that Blackie would probably love to see her in before he cut them off of her like the beast that he was.

“No, that’s okay. I don’t need to know where he is. I just want to hear about all the…the fun things you two did together. Because I love hearing romantic dates and the like. He took you on dates, right?”

“Oh, Mr. Wolfe- oh, sorry, Doctor Wolfe. So rude of me. But Doctor Wolfe, I have too much to do. Your clumsy attempts to get me to stop won’t work. Don’t you worry none. I have plans. I’m going to go, but I’ll take my gun with me. If he’s a naughty boy, then I’ll deal with it. Otherwise, I’ll be right back where I belong. In his arms. Gone without a trace.”

What a thought. Being able to disappear from the world, without anyone to look for her. She could be in her own reality, focused entirely on Black. Unless, of course, she left, but somehow, she knew that she wouldn’t. She’d stay there with him, one way or another.

That made her giggle as she tossed her phone, not bothering to hang up. If he connected with the police, they could trace her phone to the remnants of the old life that she was leaving behind. Keep them off of her trail.

Shoving clothes in her duffel bag, she packed up everything she would ever need. Her whole life was stretched out in front of her, and she didn’t have to worry about a thing. She could go and do whatever it was that she needed to do, see her Blackie one last time, for the first time for the last time, all depending on what he was like.

Oh, she hoped he would let her stay. She wanted to stay with him. She wanted to be curled in his arms, wanted to feel him every night again. If he’d gotten another pet, well, she’d take care of that too. He had too much love and passion for her to hoard all to herself. Besides, she had enjoyed watching him with Gus. She might enjoy seeing him with whatever other pet he might have gotten.

She was a generous girlfriend. Very generous. He had to see that. He’d be silly not to.

Singing softly to some song that her thoughts probably jumbled up, she picked up her bag, her hard case, her wallet and her keys. It felt so good to walk out that front door, to wnder out to her new car. Stephen had bought it for her. Silly, but he seemed to want to make up for something that wasn’t his fault. Or was it? He had been the one to arrange that book deal. It was fine. She wouldn’t have met Black otherwise.

She sang, she patted her hands on the steering wheel, and she felt light for the first time in ages as she went to the airport. Stepping out of her car in the long term parking, she dropped the keys on the hood. Let someone find it and take it. She didn’t need it anymore.

A ticket was very expensive as it was last minute, but that didn’t much matter. She just needed to get there, and she would do anything it took to get there quickly.

Goodness, she was so excited she couldn’t even sleep on the flight. She just stared out the window and imagined all the wonderful things that were coming her way. She could live with Blackie.

But if he didn’t want her, then she could go and get an apartment somewhere else. She could start again.

But oh, hopefully he would want to keep her. She so wanted to stay. Please let him want to keep her! She was his, all his, and he had told her so. He wasn’t a liar, was he? He wouldn’t lie to her. He had no need to.

When the plane landed, she hummed as she waited her turn to get off the plane. She hummed as she walked through the airport, as she reclaimed her bag. She hummed as she went to rent a car, as she thanked the attendant ever so sweetly for the map that they gave her. She hummed as she tracked out her path, and she hummed as she started to drive.

The air was thick and moist, perfect against her skin. It was funny how used to it she had become. It was nice to be back in it, to be so close to coming home again. She had been silly to think that California had been her home. If only she could have known from a young age that everything she ever needed was down in Cadeau. She could have moved there earlier, and-

Oh! There was that thing Black had said. If she’d lived in the town, if they’d met some other way, well then, he might have liked her. If he didn’t immediately take her back, then she could buy an apartment in Cadeau, and they could meet other ways. He could see just how good she was, even without that collar and chain. She had so many possibilities to explore, so many ways to stay with him.

She didn’t have an exact address, there was some wandering to be done, but oh, when she rolled n through Cadeau, her heart sang. She could get everything she ever wanted. And oh, it was such a shock, but she knew what street to go down. It probably helped that Black had had her drive home that one time. It was a muscle memory, one she didn’t even have to consider as she drove down the right way, past trees she recognized until she saw that driveway that looked like nothing more than the barest gap in the trees.

Crooning out her joy, she turned down that little dirt road, careful not to drive too fast. She was excited, sure, but she didn’t need to go and get herself killed before she even saw him again. No sir, that would not do. She had to see him, was so close to seeing him, could see him, see him, see him-

The house was just as she had remembered it. The countless sheds, barns, all secrets that she only knew a fraction of. It felt like home. In her hurry to get out of the car, she almost forgot to put it in park. Silly, so eager. She giggled at herself, turning off her car. Now, she couldn’t be too eager.

Turning to her passenger seat, she touched the hard case. She probably wouldn’t need it, but it couldn’t hurt to take it. Just in case someone had followed her, or something. She could defend her Blackie, make sure it was just the two of them, after all.

Slipping the magazine into the gun, she sang a little tune as she slipped her pistol into the back of her shorts, snug against her flesh. Just a precaution. Black would be so proud of her for being so prepared. Backup plans, and the like!

Her sneakers crunched against the gravel when she stepped out, wandering up his driveway to the front porch. His truck was parked off to the side, still as beat up as she remembered it. How long had she been away from him? It was oh so hard to tell. He would probably know, and he could tell her. He could tell her all the things that she had missed when she had been away from him. She could sit at his knee and listen to him drawl, listen to the low lilt of his song because it was so pretty and she loved it, loved him, loved-

A creak from inside the house made her breath catch. Was he home? He had to be home. His truck was there.

Hopping up the front steps, she rubbed her palms against her shirt to clear away the sweat. Should she knock? She should knock.

The house creaked again, and the front door opened. In the darkness of the house and through the haze of the dirty screen door, she couldn’t see anything. But she could hear the breath, hear the rasp of him there, so large and so alive.

She grinned, maybe even laughed a little.

“Hey Blackie,” she breathed, clasping her hands behind her back. “I’m home.”

There was a pause, then a low chuckle, and a scarred hand came into view, pushing the screen door so that big, beautiful man could step out onto the front porch. He looked down at her with those golden eyes, those eyes she had dreamed about every night since she had left him. He was just as wonderful as she remembered him to be.

Her heart sang. She wanted to lunge for him, but she knew to be a good girl. She was his best girl, after all. It wouldn’t do to upset him, no sir. So she just waited as he loomed over her, breathing hard, breathing hot.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” she whispered, biting her bottom lip. “It took me a while to realize that I missed you so much.”

“Beb,” he crooned, and he reached for her. Her skin tingled with a pulse for the first time since she had left him, his rough fingers pushing through her hair, gripping too tight to tilt her head back. “Mine.”

“Yours!” She piped up, bright and happy. He had missed her! He didn’t say it, but she felt it. He had missed her, and he was happy to see her, and she was right where she needed to be.

She backed up when he pushed, backed up until her back hit the railing of his porch, just above where her gun was tucked. It was intoxicating, being so close to him again, especially when he turned and spat his toothpick away. She knew what it meant. She was ready, so ready and he didn’t let her down.

When his lips pressed over hers again, she felt everything in the entire world, because Blackie was her world. Being kissed by him again was everything she could have ever wanted, and she giggled, tears burning at her eyes. He was happy to see her, called her something sweet. Beb? That was a nice thing, right? He was happy, she was happy, she should have come back sooner.

It was so easy to lose herself in him, in his sickly sweet taste, in the thick way his tongue pushed against hers, in the way his hands slid over her neck, feeling where her bruises had been, his thumbs pressing across her throat and squeezing, squeezing and-

Was he-

He wanted-

No!

Gurgling, she kicked out, managing to get a good thud between his legs. Even he wasn’t immune to it, grunting sharply, his hands spasming enough that she could throw herself back, toppling over the railing. She barely missed landing on her neck, landing on her shoulders, but she had adrenaline. Kicking herself up, she backpedaled, somehow on her feet, backing away from him, her hand against her throat.

He tried to strangle her. He-

“You tried to kill me,” she gasped, eyes wide. “Why would you…”

He looked different. His golden eyes were wide, wild, his lips parted and his teeth bared. Like when he had killed that detective. Whatever momentary stun she had inflicted by kicking him in the crotch was gone. He slowly rounded the railing, coming to the stairs of his porch.

No. He wanted…

“I love you, Blackie,” she whined, tears bubbling up, spilling down her cheeks. “I want to stay here, with you. Please let me stay. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. You don’t need to kill me.”

He hissed, his tongue dragging over his teeth as she approached, loomed, stalked. A hunter, through and through, and she was the prey.

Anger flashed through her, her own snarl ripping out of her. No. No! He was being ridiculous and she wouldn’t have it! So she twisted, and she bolted out into the woods without another thought.

Because he was a hunter. And nothing got him going like a good chase.

He was fast. She knew that. She managed to make a good distance into the woods before his fist struck her side, making her stumble off to the side. His hands followed, grabbing for her neck, eager to squeeze, eager to kill.

No! Not allowed! She went dead weight, dropping out of his grip before he could really solidify it. Even with her bad knee, she could kick, get the side of his knee, knock him off balance enough for her to scrabble away again.

They needed to talk. If he would just talk to her, then she could get through to him and they could go home and he could stop being so ridiculous and stop trying to kill her.

Far enough away, she lurched to her feet, grabbing the fun and wrenching it out, leveling it his way.

Even as an animal, he knew what that was. He went still, eyes locking on the black metal. It assessed it, then dragged his attention past it, to her, focusing on her.

“Listen,” she gasped, gripping the gun tight. “You don’t have to kill me. I didn’t tell anyone anything. No one knows I’m here. We can just…get back to where we left off. You can collar me again, and I can be your sweet little pet again. That’s all I want.” Some rational part of her rebelled against her words, but she just choked that down. It didn’t matter. “We can do that, right?”

He licked his lips, rolling his fingers. Assessing her. Could he even hear her? He took a step forward.

“Stop!” She drew back the hammer, sobbing more than anything. “I can move into town. Right? I can get an apartment. We can meet at the market. We can date, and you’ll like me. You said that, remember? That if we met a different way, you’d like me. You can like me. It’s okay. It’ll be so easy. We just have to try this another way. There’s no need to kill me.”

He lunged. She screamed, dropping the gun and shooting. There was a grunt, and she’d hit him, she knew she did and she screamed, sobbing harder. She didn’t want to shoot him, but he wasn’t listening.

But he didn’t fall. He snarled, whirling on her as blood spread on his jeans, on the side of his thigh.

Oh, she’d barely missed. Oh good. He wasn’t too hurt. She sobbed in relief, aching to go to him, but that’d be too close to his hands.

He wasn’t listening. He was too far gone. Especially when he turned those wild eyes on her, his teeth bared like a beast. He was mad at her. He’d never listen, and she’d never get away from him at that point.

And worst of all, she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to risk never seeing him again. She wanted to stay, he didn’t want her to stay, and there was only one thing left to do.

It was like a blanket, pressing over her. Realization took all of her fear, all of her tears. She stopped sobbing, stopped gasping, standing up straighter, keeping that gun trained on him. Her change was so dramatic that even his snarl faded a bit, confusion darkening his features.

She stared at him for a long time. She wanted to etch every detail into her memory. She wanted him to be the only thing she ever knew.

“You don’t get to kill me,” she breathed.

And she jerked the gun around, pressing it to her temple.

Click.

++++++++++++++++++++

Boom.

The shot echoed through the woods, but that didn’t much matter. He watched as her body fell into the leave, his own cry echoing with the shot. It had risen, unbidden, from his throat. He didn’t know he would shout, but he had. He’d cried out the moment that gun was put to her head.

Fuck.

Straightening back up, he stared, impassive, down at her body. It still twitched a little. In most cases, he would have loved to descend on the body and feast, and feel the warmth and enjoy was life still remained in it.

Not that time, though.

He just felt sick.

Shuffling forward, he dropped to a knee by her body. Her eyes were still wide open, staring off at something even he couldn’t see. Blood and bone stained the side of her head, dripping with tissue, with flesh. He hated guns. Too quick. Unsatisfying.

Tsking, he finally felt the burn of the shot to his leg. Lucky she didn’t hit anything vital.

Never expected her to come back. Seeing her on his front porch had been like seeing a dream. He’d thought of her sometimes. He had liked her, had ached to see her eyes go blank, her face to red from his hands around her throat.

Gone and ruined it. Shouldn’t have been so quick. Let her stay for a while, then choked her. His damn eagerness. Mama had always told him to take things like that slow. Savor it. He’d gone and fucked it up.

Reaching down, he brushed some hair from her cheek, admiring her features. She’d been pretty. She was pretty in her death, too.

Damn.

Sighing, he scooped his arms around her limp body, bundling it in against his chest. She was nothing but meat, then. Even if he didn’t want to in the moment, it’d be nice to keep her around for a while. When the meat started to soften, he could take her teeth for his basket, take her hair for the braids he wove and stored. So many mementos. He’d keep hers in a special spot for a while, but then she’d just be a memory, like all the others.

It was hard not to look down at her face, even as he stepped in the front door. He really had liked her. He’d been sad to lose her, but he had to be the one to kill her. Ryan didn’t get that, and hell, he didn’t even get that gift either. She took her own life, took herself from him.

Rude.

Shuffling through his house, he stepped over the chain, sniffing as it rattled. His new pet huddled in the corner, eyes wide and wild. It watched him go by. It wasn’t her. It was always too scared to do half the shit she did. It was a warm body. It would do until he got one better.

Taking her into the back room, he laid her down on top of the freezer that was locked up so right. Her body would relax soon enough, and she’d really be nothing but meat. He normally removed the head, but maybe he’d leave hers on for a while. She’d cut her hair.

He liked it.

Rubbing his fingertips over the shaved bit of her head, he hummed softly, under his breath. A song she’d sung to, in the months she had stayed with him. He hadn’t known the words before, and her singing was awful, but he’d liked her smile.

A thought struck him, dragging his eyes up to the far wall. The yellowed phone still hung there, so he plucked it up. He sneered as he tried to remember the numbers, thick fingers mashing the buttons until the phone started to ring. Pressing it to his ear, he stretched the cord long, just so he could stand at her side again, looking down at her body.

“Grave’s Taxidermy,” a voice came over the line, gruff and thick.

“Cooper,” Black drawled, rubbing a bit of her hair between his fingers.

“Black, hey.” The tone of voice changed immediately, a distant scrape starting up over the phone. Probably scraping a hide. “What do you need?”

“Got a job for you.”

“Oh? Gator? I haven’t finished with that deer skull you brought me last week.”

“No. Not a gator.” His hand wandered down, rubbing over her shoulder. “Can you do something special? Something off books?”

The scraping paused. A huffed breath, and a creak. An old chair. “What kind of special?”

“Human arm.” His hand trailed lower, lacing his fingers with hers. Her hands were so small. “Few inches down from the shoulder. I still want it to be flexible. Soft.”

There was a long pause. Enough that Black started to fear that the call had dropped. Then there was another creak. “I can cover the cut with velvet. What color do you want?”

Black grinned, cupping her cheek, smoothing his thumb under her wide open eye. “Oh, I don’t know. Whatever color you think will look nice.”

“Alright. Bring it on by after hours,” Cooper sighed, the scraping resuming. “Wrap it in paper or something.”

Oh, he could do that. He leaned down, pressing his lips to her cooling lips. Not the last kiss she’d have by far, but she didn’t know that.

She may have taken her death from him, but he could still have his fun with her.

Until she was rotted away into nothing in his swamp, he would feast on her despair.


End file.
